Tales from the Men's Room
by Fluffy-CSI
Summary: Ongoing Season 7 spoilers - a series of ficlets. The men's room is to Ziva what the elevator is to Gibbs. Just how many times *will* she corner Tony in there?
1. Post Reunion

_He was going to kiss me. I thought he was going to kiss me, _she thought, staring at his back as he bolted down the hallway outside the men's room. His face had been so close to hers, and the way he grabbed her shoulders...she had been sure he was going to kiss her.

She scoffed out a breath at herself. He hadn't been about to kiss her. She had just given him an idea. What could have possessed her to think that he would kiss her, in the middle of a men's room in the center of the NCIS building, itself well-ensconced in the Navy Yard?

Perhaps her psych evaluation had simply not asked the right questions to diagnose her own brand of insanity.

_No_. Even in a joke to herself, the concept of her being insane was anathema. If there was one thing she knew, that she was _sure _of after her time in that camp, it was that she was not insane. Foolhardy, yes, and often unwise. But not crazy.

So if she wasn't insane, then why had she been so sure he was going to kiss her?

Because he had stared into her eyes, perhaps. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. That was a concept she was well-acquainted with after the way she had spent her summer. "Wishful thinking" had been all she'd had left after the first two weeks and no rescue. "Wishful thinking" had involved visualizing everyone she loved, had ever loved, surrounding her, helping her. Rescuing her.

But he was the only one who'd actually come. As far as she'd been able to establish without using the most obvious of her contacts, Mossad had made no effort to find or save her. NCIS had not even known she was alive, and they had still found her. _He _had still found her, she corrected herself. Because while she didn't doubt that the rest of the team had helped, had risked their own lives for her as well, she somehow knew that he had been the driving force behind it.

She wondered if his quick exit indicated that he understood, had forgiven her, or if it simply meant that she had distracted him with whatever insight she had apparently offered him into the case he was working.

She wondered what would have happened in the next moment if what she had said had not triggered some buried thought in the "cop" part of his brain.

She wondered what would happen the next time she cornered him in the men's room.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:Decided to make a series of this. Because really, when DID the men's room become Ziva's office?

* * *

He'd been unable to sing to himself in the bathroom for weeks now, always suspecting that the one time he let his guard down, he'd look over his shoulder to find her smirking at him again. So he went in silence, staring at the wall in front of him and occasionally sneaking tiny glances behind his back.

Damn, it was hard to pee when you were paranoid.

Still, he got the job done and zipped his fly, turning toward the sink and promptly smashing into someone who was far too short to be McGee or Gibbs.

"Hi, Ziva," he began as he peeled himself off the obstacle. No need to check who it was. Who else would have come into the bathroom and stood there in silence? "To what do I owe the pleasure this time?" At least he hadn't been singing, he thought to himself.

She pursed her lips and eyed him critically. "You are avoiding me."

"I just walked right into you, Ziva. I don't think it's even possible to claim I'm avoiding you."

"That is not what I mean. You are avoiding speaking to me." She crossed her arms and leaned to the side, blocking his halfhearted effort to get around her to the door.

Tony forced a chuckle. "Come on. I'm not avoiding speaki-" The rest of the denial got lost in the whoosh of air that blew out of his lungs as his back hit the wall between two urinals.

Ziva, satisfied with the results of her shove, closed the gap between them and locked her gaze on his for a long second, then dropped her eyes and backed up again. "Did you not believe my apology?" she ventured, trying to keep her voice even. "I tried to explain it to you as best I could, but then whatever I said - you got distracted when I said 'cop', and I didn't know if you remembered, and then the case was solved, and -"

"Ziva!"

Surprised, she closed her mouth. "What?"

"Stop babbling. I believed your apology."

"Then _why_ have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't -"

"Do not make me shove you again, Tony."

"I haven't been avoiding you!"

She just looked at him.

"Ok, maybe I have been. Slightly."

Ziva raised her eyebrows, demanding further explanation.

Tony winced slightly and tried again to ease past her. "You know, you're scary when you make that face."

She just raised her eyebrows higher and gave him an unamused look.

He knew, somehow, that she'd reached her limit and her next move would either be to injure him or to leave. Stifling a sigh, he raised his hands in submission. "Fine. Ok."

"...Yes?" Ziva prompted when he didn't continue after a few seconds.

He swallowed. "I apologized to you, you apologized to me. We're good, right?"

"If we are 'good,' Tony, then why does it seem like I will have to torture you to find out the answer to my question?" He winced at the word _torture_, and Ziva felt like an idiot. "I am sorry," she sighed. "That was not a good choice of words. I think that both of us have had our fill of torture for the year."

Tony, back on an even keel now that she wasn't, grinned. "Unless you want to torture me with your -"

"Tony!"

"Right, sorry. Getting back on topic, Bo-." He cut himself off this time, flushing slightly at what he had almost said.

Ziva blinked at his quick surrender, thought for a second, and then chuckled. "I believe I have figured out the answer for myself. You spoke to me just now like you usually speak to Gibbs. Perhaps you still remember my gun against your chest? You are _afraid_ of me, aren't you!"

"No!"

"Really?" She leaned closer to him, trapping him between the two urinals he had almost managed to escape. "You are not afraid?"

"HahahaNO." He tried his stern-agent face, but as he'd feared, it didn't work on her. "Really, Ziva, I'm not -"

She faked a sudden lunge at him and he jerked backwards reflexively.

"That was _not _fair!" he protested, rubbing the back of his head where it had thunked into the tile wall.

"Oh, Tony." She patted his cheek and smiled. "Life is never fair where you are involved. Wash your hands before you leave." And with that, she turned and exited the men's room.

He stared after her. "You know, one of these days someone's gonna walk in on us!" he yelled at the door as it closed behind her. After a moment, the door handle turned, and he thought, _gotcha! _"And then you're gonna have to explain to some confused agent when the men's room turned into your office!" he told the opening door.

Jimmy Palmer paused halfway into the doorway, staring at him. "I'll just...go use the bathroom downstairs."


	3. Post Inside Man

His Ziva-radar had been on continuous update mode for the past few weeks, and it was finally paying off. Without moving his eyes away from the wall he was facing, he smiled. "For your information, I am _not _afraid of you, Officer David. I just thought you could use a little...sensitivity from me."

If he hadn't been expecting the slight intake of breath that showed her surprise, he would have missed it. "How did you know I was here?" she demanded.

"A magician doesn't give away his secrets, Ziva." He zipped his fly and turned to face her. "Hi."

"Hello." She twitched her shoulders in what might have been unease or irritation. "I am pleased that Metro Police dropped the charges against you."

"McGee is, too. Me, I wouldn't have minded an interrogation or two with that cute little detective. 'Scuse me." Reclaiming his ground, he leaned past her to the sink and began washing his hands. "So, rumor has it you gave Gibbs some paperwork."

Ziva nodded at him in the mirror.

"What'd he say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. He picked up his pen, put it down again, stared at me for a few seconds, and set the papers in a drawer."

"And so you're visiting me in here because..." He turned off the tap and whipped a paper towel out of the dispenser with a flourish. "You want to an expert's opinion on what he's thinking?"

She snorted. "You are hardly an expert. However..."

"Hm?" He tossed the towel into the trash can, nothing but net, and leaned back against the counter.

"However..." She sighed. "Yes, I would like to hear your opinion."

"Who else've you asked so far?"

Another twitch of her shoulders. Of all her body movements that he'd mentally cataloged, that was the most inscrutable. He could never be sure whether a twitch was an _I'm going to hit you _twitch or a _You have put me in an uncomfortable position _twitch. He chose to guess the latter in this case.

"I have asked no one else. You are..." She shook her head, dismissing whatever she had been about to say, and tried again. "If you do not have an opinion as to what Gibbs's actions meant, that is fine. Just say so." And she turned to leave.

"Hey, hey." He grabbed her arm. "I didn't say I didn't know."

Ziva waited, looking at him expectantly.

"Ok, fine, I don't know. But I'm up for brainstorming if you are. Lock the door."

She automatically moved to do it, then paused and beetled her brows at him. "Why would I need to lock the door for us to brainstorm?"

"No reason." He grinned. "Just wanted to see if you'd do it."

"Obviously, you do not have anything to offer. I will leave you to lock yourself in the bathroom."

"I think he's worried about you," he blurted as she grasped the door handle again. "You won't talk to anyone about Africa, not even Ducky. Gibbs trusts you not to screw him now, but he can't trust you not to screw yourself."

Ziva slowly turned to face him again. "Why would he think I would 'screw myself'?"

Tony shrugged. "Hey, I'm just talking out of my ass here, so take this with a grain of salt, bu-"

Ziva jerked forward and pinned him against the bathroom counter, one arm on either side of him. "I asked you _why _he thinks I would screw myself. Tony."

"Ok, look." He dropped his joking facade and looked at her with a seriousness that Ziva rarely saw in him. "To apply to be an NCIS officer, you have to have resigned from Mossad, or be planning on it. That means turning your back on your father. Maybe on Israel."

"And what if I have?"

Tony gingerly drew one arm out of the prison her hands had erected around him. "Hey, no skin off my nose. Your father's not exactly my favorite person. But Gibbs isn't me."

"And?"

"And..." He turned up the one palm he had managed to free. "I think he wants to make sure you're sure before he backs you up on taking that step."

"I am sure."

"Then tell him that, not me."

Ziva looked at him for a second, processing his words, then picked up her hands and stepped back. "I am sure," she said again, more quietly. "Israel turned its back on me long before I turned my back on it."

"Like I said..." He lifted a hand and ghosted a touch across her cheek. "Tell him that."


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, Ziva!" He trotted after her as she disappeared into the ladies' room. "Ziv- Ah, hell." He glanced over his shoulder, reminded himself that she did it to him all the time, and followed her through the door. "_Ziva_. Geez, what the hell are you -"

"Ex_cuse _me!" A blonde who was definitely not Ziva - but who was, he noted almost unconsciously, damn cute - was glaring at him from the sinks, lipstick tube in the hand that she hadn't planted on her hip. "This is the _ladies_' room."

He winced. "Yeah, uh, sorry. I was just looking for Ziva David. About yea tall? Dark hair?" he ventured, gesturing vaguely around the level of his eyes. Was that Ziva's hair that he thought he'd seen out of the corner of his eye, near the last stall? He tried leaning around the blonde to get a better look.

"Agent DiNozzo!"

Tony whipped around at the authoritative voice and found himself facing Cynthia, the director's no-nonsense secretary. "Um, hi?"

"What are you doing in here?" She clasped the portfolio she was carrying to her breasts as if she thought any man crazy enough to venture into the women's bathroom had to be crazy enough to attack any woman in it.

"Sorry, I was just looking for Ziva, and -"

"Well, look for her somewhere else!" She released her portfolio with one hand long enough to make a shooing motion at him. "Go! Out!"

Not waiting for him to respond, she added the hand holding the portfolio to the action and Tony danced backward to avoid being hit with it. "Ok, ok. Sorry," he tried in his most placating voice. "Hey, Ziva," he added more loudly, knowing she was somewhere in there, laughing silently at him. "I'll just, uh, be waiting for you outside."

As Cynthia ushered him out through the door she was holding open, he was sure he heard a snicker from the last stall.


	5. Post Good Cop Bad Cop

A/N: Inter-scene between the last two scenes of "Good Cop, Bad Cop". After the interrogation room, before the paperwork is dropped on Ziva's desk.

* * *

She had disappeared into the ladies' room again, but despite his experience the last time, and the bruise he was still wearing from Cynthia's misdirected wave of a hand, he followed her in. He followed this time with more assurance, and when he found a woman at the sink again - a different woman, this time - he simply jerked his head toward the door and ordered, "Out."

The woman's eyes widened and she started to say something, but something about the look on his face must have given her pause. She shut her mouth and practically ran out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind her. He reached out one hand and forced it to a stop before he got distracted and took a whack in the head, then headed deeper into the bathroom. "I know you're in here, Ziva."

Silence.

"Oh, come on. Don't make me start checking the stalls."

More silence, followed by a tiny, almost inaudible breath.

"Ok, fine. Have it your way."

He started with the first stall, pushing the door open and doing a quick survey. He knew she was in the third stall, and she knew he knew - she hadn't gone so far as to climb up onto the seat to hide her feet - but they were playing the game anyway.

The first stall dispensed with, he moved on to door number two, and then three. Door number three was locked, of course. He smiled at the metal that stood between them. "You want me to kick it in, or you want me to come under the door, Ziva?"

The lock moved. He smiled again and gave it a push in case she changed her mind.

Ziva's shoulder became visible in the crack, and he stepped inside, forcing her back, and shut the door behind him. "You ok?"

She nodded, but her hair was down and shielding her face. He didn't like it, and he knew she usually didn't either.

Besides, a Ziva with no quick reply was a Ziva distressed. He lifted a hand and pushed her hair back, revealing reddened eyes that looked at him accusingly. "I am fine," she managed in the most unconvincing voice he'd ever heard.

"Are not." He tucked her hair behind her ear, where half of it promptly fell back into her face, and put his hands on her shoulders, gently forcing her back against the wall of the bathroom stall. "Look at me."

A direct challenge like that couldn't go unanswered, and she raised her face and met his eyes defiantly.

A tear trickled down her cheek.

"Ziva..."

"Please, just...leave me." She pushed halfheartedly at his shoulder, but in the close confines of the stall, there was nowhere else to push him to.

"What did Gibbs say to you?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Ziva. Hey." He forced her chin back up. "Talk to me. I braved the women's bathroom for you, don't I get something in return?"

What might have been a ghost of a smile crossed her lips and then was gone. Another tear fell.

Tony couldn't help it. He hated when women cried, and this was not a situation where he could practice his usual coping mechanism of walking away. So he hugged her, very carefully, cognizant of the fact that if she lashed out, he'd soon be regretting the effort.

She didn't lash out. Instead, she melted into his shoulder. Her arms slipped around his waist and she buried her face in his shirt.

That was _not _what he had been expecting, but he'd take it. He hugged her back and lowered his nose to her hair. "Tell me what he said to you, Ziva. Was it bad?"

She shook her head.

He could feel the shoulder of his shirt dampen with her tears.

Now he was worried. Had Gibbs told her she'd be going back to Israel? That he couldn't or wouldn't protect her any longer? He had to know. "_What_, Ziva?"

She raised her head and wiped her eyes with the back of one wrist, an oddly childlike gesture. "He said..." She swallowed and smiled tremulously. "He said 'You're ours now.'"

Tony stared at her for a long moment, then grinned. He tightened his arms around her.

She returned the squeeze and dropped her head back to his shoulder. This time, he could feel her smile through his shirt.


	6. Chapter 6

"She headbutted me!" McGee wailed, adding another paper towel to the pile he was holding against his nose.

"She did not." Tony leaned back against the men's room door and watched as McGee did his best to stop the nosebleed. "She just...happened to run into you headfirst. Stop adding to that stack, McClumsy. You're not gonna bleed through twenty paper towels, I promise you."

McGee glared at him, but relinquished two of the layers. "How would _you _know? You've never taken Ziva's skull to the face!"

Tony pulled another layer out of his hands and smiled. "Yeah, but I've taken yours. And a door. And a couple people's fists." He paused, remembering. "And one time, a yappy little dog. Don't -" he added quickly when McGee opened his mouth, "ask. Just trust me, Probie, I know all the ways a nose can bleed, and 'through three inches of paper towels' isn't one of them unless you're hemorrhaging. Which you're not," he hastened to add.

"She's Mossad! Maybe she knows super-deadly ways to headbutt people!"

"Ok first of all, she's not Mossad anymore. Better start getting used to that. And second of all, there _are _super-deadly ways to headbutt people, but they involve shattering the nose and shoving it into the person's brain. If she had done _that _to you..." He pulled out another paper towel by the corner, wrinkled his nose, and dropped it into the trash bin. "You'd be dead by now."

McGee glanced at the door Tony was no longer propped against, expecting to see a homicidal Ziva come charging through it at any moment. "You didn't see her face when I called her 'Probie'. She might have invented a delayed-death headbutt just for me."

"Is _that _what you said to her?" Tony burst out laughing. "She wouldn't tell me." He slapped McGee in the back of the head, still grinning. "Idiot."

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny. It slipped out!"

"Well, if you value your nose, I bet it won't slip out again. Here, let me check -" With surprising gentleness, he eased the wad of paper towels away from the other man's nose, manfully ignoring the sizeable blood clot that came away with them. When no blood dripped out of McGee's nose in a few more seconds, he nodded. "Sniffle."

McGee did, warily, and was rewarded by air and not blood. He sniffled again, then smiled. "Hey, thanks. I'll, uh, take that," he offered, relieving Tony of the bloody towels and throwing them out. "By the way, how do you know about super-deadly headbutting methods?"

Tony just smiled mysteriously and held the bathroom door open for him.

* * *

When the door closed behind McGee, Tony dropped the mysterious smile, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the wall, waiting for it to swing open again. Within a few seconds, it did. "You could've gone easier on him," he announced to the person coming through the door. "Poor kid thought he was gonna drop dead."

"Oh?" Ziva cocked her head inquisitively to the side.

Tony nodded. "Never seen someone so freaked out by a simple nosebleed. He was afraid you put an Israeli death hex into it somehow."

"There are no hexes in Judiasm, Tony." She smiled slightly. "And I knew how much force to use. What did he say?"

"The usual. 'She headbutted me!', 'She tried to kill me!', and so forth."

Planting her hands on the counter that supported the sinks, Ziva leaned back on her arms and regarded him coolly "And what did you say?"

"Told him it wasn't a headbutt." With a conspiratorial look, and trying not to look at her breasts, which her posture was pushing out, he sidled closer until he could put one hand on the counter next to her and lean down to whisper, "Said you'd just happened to run into him headfirst."

Ziva gave him an approving smile and brushed a speck of dirt off the lapel of his suit, which was at her eye-level. "That was...helpful of you."

"Oh yeah. Helpful, that's me." He hunkered down a little more, bringing his face almost even to hers. "Do I get a reward or anything?"

"A reward," she repeated, meeting his eyes thoughtfully.

"Yeah. A reward."

She raised a hand and cupped his cheek, smiling seductively. "Yes," she breathed, slowly leaning closer to him. "You get a reward."

His eyes widened slightly as he processed that, then drifted half-closed. He turned his cheek into her hand until his lips were touching her palm.

Leaning forward the last inch, she pressed her cheek to his exposed one, and whispered against his ear, "Your reward is..."

"Yes?"

"...that I will not headbutt you." She licked his ear, grinned, and was out of the bathroom before he could catch her.


	7. Post Code of Conduct

She caught him at the sinks this time, with a bum rush that had him pinned down before he could do more than turn around. He had been sure that she'd left the office hours ago. "I said I would not headbutt you," she said softly, an inch from his surprised face.

"...Yeah. You did. So..." He tried to duck under her arm, but found himself thwarted. "Hey, c'mon. You turned my teeth blue, isn't that enough?"

"No. I did not say what other, non-headbutting, methods I would use to make you stop referring to me by _that word_."

"Hey, you heard Gibbs. Your slate's clean, Ziva. You're a probie, you get called 'Probie'."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

The smile that slipped across her face should have warned him, but he was distracted by the fact that the cowl-neck of her sweater was touching his chest. By the time he got around to noticing her face, she had him by the ear and was dragging him toward the bathroom's lone stall. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Hey!" he gasped as she pushed him into the stall.

Ziva followed him in and shut the stall door behind her, crowding him, and Tony found himself standing embarrassingly astride a rather dirty toilet. "This is familiar," he managed weakly.

"Hmm." She took another step toward him.

Tony inched another step back. The back of his knee hit the handle of the toilet, and it flushed noisily beneath him. "You said I was your superior in every way!" he protested.

She smiled. "I lied."

"You said you were completely at my mercy!"

"That..." She paused thoughtfully. "...was also a lie. It would appear that you are at _my _mercy, hmm?"

"Ok, seriously, come on, Ziva. This is -" His foot landed on a piece of toilet paper and shot out from under him. Off-balance, he fell onto the toilet with a thump.

Ziva snickered.

"Not funny, David!"

The snickers turned to a giggle.

Struggling to his feet, he made a grab for her.

Ziva jumped backward out of his grasp, but fetched up hard against the closed stall door. Momentarily trapped, she raised her hands defensively. "Oh, no," she warned through her giggles. "You would not!"

"I totally would..._Probie_."

She straight-armed him with a hand on his chest, pushing him back far enough to get the door open an inch and squeeze through it. The door slammed shut behind her as Tony's body weight hit it from inside.

Ziva's giggles turned into merry, full-throated laughter, and she couldn't help but stand just on the other side of the door, waiting for him to fight his way through.

After a few seconds, he figured out that he needed to pull, not push, and yanked the door open to find Ziva leaning against the bathroom wall, grinning at him. "Let's make a deal, shall we?" she inquired pleasantly.

He pulled to a stop in the stall doorway, regarding her suspiciously. "What kind of deal?"

Still smiling, she eased closer until they were almost touching. "You do not call me 'Probie'..."

"Hey, I -"

"And I," she continued, laying a gentle finger against his lips to quiet him, "will be at your mercy."

Tony closed his mouth and stared at her.

She hummed in satisfaction and trailed her finger from his lips to his chin. "Agreed?"

Tony swallowed. "Agreed," he managed through a dry mouth.

She smiled sweetly. "I thought so."


	8. Chapter 8

Ziva gave the men's room door a shove, working up a head of steam as she barged through it. "What did I tell you about calling me -" She stopped, blinking. "Gibbs?"

Her boss looked over his shoulder, zipped his fly, and raised his eyebrows. "No one better be calling you 'Gibbs', David. You don't look anything like me."

She would be embarrassed at having walked in on him in a second, but in the meantime she peered around him confusedly. "I was looking for Tony. I saw him come in here."

"You guys playing hide-and-seek?" Gibbs walked past her to the sink and began washing his hands as he eyed her in the mirror. "He stuck his head in the door a few minutes ago, but he didn't hang around."

Now she was embarrassed. "I am sorry. I was sure he was..."

Gibbs continued looking at her as he dried his hands and disposed of the paper towel.

Ziva, normally unflappable, flushed slightly and turned toward the door.

"Hey."His voice stopped her in her tracks. It was not his polite tone.

She slowly turned back to face him. "Yes?"

The interrogation-room tone disappeared from his voice as quickly as it had appeared. "You got anything you want to tell me?" he asked laconically.

"No."

"No?"

Ziva crossed her arms. "It is unlike you to fish for answers, Gibbs. What, exactly, are you hoping I will admit?"

Gibbs said nothing for a second, then leaned back against the counter and slipped his hands into his pockets. "I ever tell you about Rule 12?"

She ran through the mental list they had all compiled of Gibbs's Rules, and understanding dawned. Keeping her face carefully blank, she nodded. "Ah. Yes, I believe you have cited that rule numerous times." It was her turn to harden her tone. "Is there a reason you believe I should be reminded of it?"

"Nope." He pulled one hand out of his pocket and idly examined a handful of coins he had brought out with it. "Just checking."

"I see."

Gibbs dropped the change back into his pocket and reached out to pat her shoulder in a fatherly gesture as he headed for the door. "Nice havin' you back, Ziva."

The door closed behind him. Ziva swallowed tightly, ran a hand over her hair, and left the restroom.


	9. Post Outlaws and InLaws

He looked over his shoulder before he unzipped his fly. Their last encounter had been just a tad embarrassing, and Tony wanted to make sure he had the upper hand the next time she chased him into the bathroom.

Determining that the coast was clear, at least for the moment, he unzipped and warily went about his business, trying to keep to a minimum the number of obvious checks of the door he made.

Aha. The door moved. He started on his planned line of attack: "Fifteenth amendment. Go!"

McGee stopped in the doorway, blinking. "Uh, the abolition of involuntary servitude?" he ventured, thinking fast.

"Incorrect!" He zipped up and turned around, pointing an accusing finger at the other man. "And _you _are not my intended victim, McGoogle, so just..." He waved his hand dismissively. "Go do whatever you came in here for."

McGee, finally realizing why Tony was barking quiz questions at the bathroom door, smirked. "Are you _waiting _in here for her? This where you do all your -" He stopped short, his mind obviously having caught up to the possibilities of DiNozzo and Ziva meeting clandestinely. "Never mind. I'll just...yeah."

"Hey, this is not where we do anything!" Tony protested to McGee's turned back as McGee headed for the far urinal. "She just comes in here when she wants to beat up on me!"

McGee paused and gave him a disbelieving look before shaking his head and turning his attention to what he had come into the bathroom for.

Tony opened his mouth to try again, then thought better of it. He focused on washing his hands.

McGee, unable to resist, glanced over his shoulder again. "Seriously, Tony. You expecting her or something?"

Tony shrugged. "Always expect the unexpected when it comes to Ziva, Probie. Take that as my advice to you."

"Um, right. I'll keep that in mind." Giving him another suspicious, sidelong look, McGee left the bathroom.

"He did not wash his hands," Ziva commented, sauntering in moments later.

"Yeah, well, hygiene's not his strongest point. He was concentrating on the_ very difficult _citizenship question I asked him."

"Why are you asking McGee citizenship questions?"

"I wasn't asking _him_. Well, I _was_, but I thought I was asking you."

She raised her eyebrows. "You expected that I would follow you in here?"

He tipped his head from the door to her and nodded pointedly. "Um, yeah."

"Hm. And what is it you were waiting to ask me?"

"The fifteenth amendment."

"What about it?"

"Describe it."

She thought for a moment. "It granted the right of United States citizens to vote regardless of race or sex."

Tony made a loud buzzer noise. "Eeeeehhhhh!"

Ziva instinctively flinched away from the noise, wincing. "It did not?" she asked, wracking her brain for the correct answer.

"Partial credit, Miss David!" he announced in his best gameshow-host voice. "It, in fact, granted the right to vote regardless of race, but _not _of sex. Women's right to vote was not granted until..." In what he hoped was a subtle movement, he faked a stretch and checked the crib notes he'd written on the inside of his wrist. "...the nineteenth amendment, fifty years later!"

Ziva shrugged, dismissing the correction. "It is always about sex."

Tony stopped and cocked his head to the side, his next monologue sidetracked by her comment. "It is?"

"Yes." She smiled and ran a finger down his upper arm. "I am surprised that you, of all people, would need to be told that."

"Are we...talking about the same sense of 'sex' here?"

She smiled again. "Perhaps not. Would you like to compare notes?"

"Notes? What?" he asked, realizing too late that she was on to him.

Ziva wrapped her fingers around his wrist and yanked it up between them. "_These _notes. Did you think I would not notice? Honestly, Tony! It was not even creative!"

"Oh, these? Just, you know, reminders."

"Hmm." She released his arm and leaned back against the wall. "I am surprised you ever made it through school with technique like that."

"You criticizing my technique, Ziva?"

"It could use some work." Her eyes flicked from his body to his face. "There are ways in which it is...lacking."

"Oh _really_."

"Really." She pushed off the wall, invading his personal space for a moment before she dropped back again. "I was going to ask you if you wished to help me study for my citizenship exam. However, considering your...technique..." She turned her palms up. "Perhaps I shall ask McGee, instead."

"McGeek?" He scoffed. "Yeah, sure, maybe he can recite the answers for you to learn, but..." Mirroring her last movement, he leaned in, crowding her. "_I_ can keep you awake."

Ziva raised her eyebrows appreciatively. "In that case, you are on. Where shall we do this...studying?"

"Well, I know this place where Palmer and Lee used to meet to -"

"Your apartment," she overruled. "Tomorrow night." Smiling, she turned for the door. "You will provide the refreshments, hmm?"

"I -" Before he could get out anything more, she was gone.


	10. Post Endgame

McGee wiped the damp paper towel over his face again and leaned over the sink. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to throw up again, but not sure enough to venture out of the bathroom. Besides, he didn't want to have to face the rest of them.

It was a nauseating feeling, to know he'd been used. It wasn't the near-death that bothered him, even. He'd faced guns before, not to mention a coked-up German Shepherd. No, it was the manipulation. How easy it had been for her - all she had to do was smile and he'd been toast.

Tony wouldn't have fallen for it. Neither would Gibbs.

Groaning, he re-dampened the paper towel and slapped it against his face.

The door creaked open, and as he struggled to scrape the wet paper off quickly enough for it to not be seen, it occurred to him that he'd locked the men's room door. Only one person could pick locks that swiftly and quietly. "Ziva, this is not the time," he said, his voice muffled by the paper towel that refused to move.

Her fingers skated over his face, and then the paper towel was gone and she was looking at him, holding the towel out to one side as if it was dirty. "It will have to be the time. It is either now or when Tony realizes how long you have been gone and comes after you himself." She tossed the paper towel into the trash can, rubbed her hands together, and leaned back against the sink, next to him. "I presume you would rather face me than him."

"I don't want to face anyone right now, ok? I just need some time to...decompress."

"It was not your fault, McGee."

"I didn't say it was."

"It is clear that you believe it was."

"I don't believe it was my fault," he protested again. "I just..." He sighed, shaking his head. "None of the rest of you would have bought it. Why did I?"

She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You believe that Tony, or Gibbs, or I, are not able to be manipulated? That we are not vulnerable?"

He scowled and reached past her for another paper towel from the stack that sat behind the sinks, cranking the tap open slightly to wet it. "Not the same way, no." He turned off the tap, looked at the paper towel for a second, and then crumpled it in his hand. "Almost ten years, Ziva!" he growled, pegging the blob of paper at the door, where it stuck with a wet slap. "I've been doing this almost ten years. I'm a competent agent. Or at least I thought I was. And I caved right the hell in the minute some pretty assassin smiled at me and stuck her hand down my pants!"

Ziva drew back in surprise. "She stuck her hand down your pants?"

"Well, I mean, to get my phone. I was holding a tray of coffee. It wasn't -" He groaned. "Never mind."

"It is an unusual technique," she mused, her professional curiosity piqued, "but yes...I can see it being promising."

"Ziva!"

"I am sorry," she said quickly. "I did not mean it like that. What I intended to point out to you is that _all _humans are able to be manipulated. There is nothing, no amount of hardening, of experience, that can make you immune. Less vulnerable, perhaps, but not immune."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes." She looked down at her feet. "You remember Michael, yes?"

"Your -" he began. "I mean, yeah."

"He did not start a relationship with me because he loved me; he was simply assigned by my father to monitor me. I did not know this until after..." She swallowed. "After his death."

McGee stared at her. "I'm sorry, Ziva," he finally managed. "I had no idea -"

"I did not, either," she interrupted. "That is my point. I am sure you would think that I, of all people..." She laughed at her own stupidity. "That _I _should be able to detect this, yes?"

"Yes," he said slowly.

"And yet I did not." She drew in a deep breath, tipped her head back, and let the breath out. "I am learning to forgive myself for that...error. And mine was far more egregious than yours."

McGee raised his eyebrows. "It was?"

"He almost killed Tony," she said simply.

"Ah."

"In my ignorance, I almost cost the life of one of my friends," she said, holding his eyes with hers. "In yours, you risked only yourself. It is not pleasant, in either case," she went on before he could interrupt, "but it is not unforgivable. You should not consider yourself any less worthy of being an agent for it."

"It's not the same, Ziva."

She whirled around, pinning him against the sink with a glare. "It is _exactly _the same, Timothy! We are fallible. It is a truth of life. You must learn to accept this!" Pulling back, she swallowed. "If you cannot learn to accept that you may make an error..._then _you must begin to doubt yourself. It is when you believe you are not vulnerable that you are in danger."

McGee sighed and crossed his arms.

Gently, Ziva laid a hand on his forearm and leaned closer. "There is nothing wrong with you. I promise you this. You are no better or worse than any of us."

The men's room door banged open, startling them both. "Hey, guys!" Tony boomed. "Don't I get an invite to the party?"

Ziva took her hand off of McGee's arm and turned to DiNozzo, giving him a slow up-and-down examination. "No," she finally said with a small smile. "It was a private party. And it is over now, in any event. Right, McGee?"

McGee coughed, then nodded. "Right. We were just on our way out."

"Aw, guys, I'm hurt!"

Ziva smirked at him as McGee beat a hasty retreat out of the bathroom. "May I suggest a wet paper towel on the wounded area?" she asked Tony teasingly, as she followed McGee out.

* * *

**A/N: There will be no post-ep next Tuesday, as I won't have TV or internet access. I may post a catch-up chapter early the next week.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: *waves hand* This is not the postep you are looking for! This is just a filler chapter I worked on while away last week. There should still be a postep forthcoming tonight, unless I conk out unexpectedly.**

* * *

Tony tossed the wet paper towel into the trash can, ran a hand over his hair, and smiled at himself in the mirror. Another case cleared, another free night. He was going to enjoy -

"Sometimes, you remind me of Narcissus."

He turned around to face her, confused. "Who?"

"Narcissus. A mythological Greek man who became so entranced with his own reflection that he neglected to lead the rest of his life." She looked past him to the mirror and smiled at herself in it. "Eventually, unable to find anything as pleasing as the sight of himself, he died at the edge of the pond he had been looking into."

"That's...depressing.," Tony noted, running a finger under his collar. "And I'll have you know I've been in here for all of a minute, Agent David. It's not like I've been staring."

A teasing smile flickered across her lips. "At whom?"

He started to respond, then caught himself and gave her a sly smile. "Ohhh, no. Not answering that one."

She sidled a step closer, reducing the gap between them to mere inches. "Hiding things from your partner? Tsk, tsk, Tony."

"Hey, you want to know who I've been staring at?" he challenged. "Because I will provide you with a _list _if it's that important to you."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows and called his bluff. "It is important to me. So provide it."

"Um." He thought for a second. "McGee has a grey hair. I've been staring at that. Don't think he's even realized he has it yet."

"And?"

"That new secretary downstairs, with the nice -"

"_And_?"

He directed a condescending smile in her direction. "And what?"

"Hm." She scoffed quietly. "You are a bad liar."

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

Smirking, she leaned around him to adjust her hair. "I saw you watching when I spoke to that Metro officer today," she pointed out lightly, eyes on her reflection. "In fact, I believe I can even narrow down what body part of mine you were focussed on when -"

"Your ass."

She stopped short, turned, and looked at him. "That was what I was going to say, yes, although I find myself somewhat surprised that -"

He shrugged. "It's not like you didn't already know."

"That you enjoy staring at my ass?" She twisted around, looking down at it as best she could. "No. But I must say, it does not look particularly remarkable to me."

He craned his neck around, trying to get the same view she had. "Yeah, well." He shrugged again, trying to look disinterested. "It's a better view when, say, you're bending over a table in the interrogation room."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Well, it _is_."

Smiling in spite of herself, Ziva shook her head. "You are shameless."

Eyes narrowing slightly, he took a step toward her. "Well, then, that makes two of us."

Her smile widened, then diminished into a coy smirk. "I was wondering when you'd notice." Dropping her eyes, she extended one finger and traced it over the lapel of his suit. "We are well-partnered, then, hmm?"

"Very." He cleared his throat. "Um, Ziva -"

The bathroom door flew open. "Hey, Tony, are you -" McGee began, then came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the two of them. "Um," he managed, looking from Ziva to Tony and then back. "You guys are obviously, um, occupied. Don't let me interrupt. I'll just..." He cleared his throat. "I'll be at my desk whenever you're done." Without another word, and not allowing either of them time to attempt an explanation, he turned tail and fled the restroom.

Tony and Ziva watched the door swing closed behind him, then turned back to stare at each other.


	12. Post Child's Play

Tony watched the suspect fall with Ziva's bullet in his brain. Gibbs hadn't doubted her. Neither had he. Ziva was a better marksman than any of th-

Shit. The clam chowder had won. He slapped a hand over his mouth and stumbled toward the bushes that encircled the edge of the house's back yard, barely making it before half a bowl of chowder, a cup of coffee, and a bottle of water erupted out of his stomach. It was mortifying. Angela and her mother probably thought he couldn't stomach seeing someone killed or something.

Not to mention how bad this made him look in front of Gibbs.

And Ziva. She'd never let him live it down.

In between heaves, he groaned and straightened up just enough to brace one hand on a bush and the other on his thigh. Then another mouthful of chowder came up, and he lost that ground.

"Here." A pale hand appeared, holding out a folded paper towel to him. "Wipe your mouth."

He took it and did, and found it pleasantly damp against his flushed skin. "Thanks," he managed, refolding the towel and using a dry corner to wipe his nose.

"I could have told you that that soup smelled rotten."

"Yeah, well, thanks for the war-" Another heave interrupted his retort, and she barely jumped back in time to avoid him depositing a mess on her shoes.

"Ew." She picked her way out of the danger zone, eyes on him. "You are substantially unwell."

He wiped his mouth again and managed to straighten up almost all the way. "I'm fine. It was just that damn chowder. Once I have it out of my system..."

She frowned. "You have already emptied your system, Tony."

Another wave of nausea tore through him, and he would have dropped to his knees without the steadying hand she extended. Her grip was strong, and for a few seconds she was supporting almost all of his weight. "I believe you may need to see a doctor," she said, slipping her free arm around his back as he tried to straighten up again. Their still-clasped hands crossed in front of his body, and the effect was to have her slight body almost enveloping his.

Tony, having deposited his pride along with his dinner on the grass, leaned heavily on her. She was surprisingly warm, as well as strong, and he fought the urge to drop his head tiredly onto her shoulder. "Nah."

"Yes." She tightened her grip on his hand.

He shook his head, dry heaved, and then shook his head again. "I'll be ok."

Rolling her eyes, she silently overruled him and began to tow him toward where their car was parked. He was in no shape to resist, anyway, and was forced to follow.

"He is unwell," she announced to Gibbs, who was staring at them with raised eyebrows as they came around the corner of the house. There was no sign of mother and daughter; Ziva presumed they had retreated into the house to care for each other.

"Yeah." Gibbs looked from her to Tony, whose face was chalky. "I can tell that much."

"I believe we should take him to the hospital, Gibbs."

From his position a head above her, Tony widened his eyes and shook his head at his boss.

"Nah," Gibbs said obligingly. "Ducky'll take care of him. We just have to get him back to the Navy Yard."

It was not ideal, but it was acceptable. Ziva nodded. "We will need a plastic bag."

Gibbs leaned into the car and produced a plastic grocery bag from one of the seatback pockets. He handed it off to her, and she passed it to Tony, who clutched at it like a lifeline as his stomach clenched again.

With Ziva pulling and Gibbs pushing, they managed to wedge him into the back seat of the car. Ziva found herself squashed against the inside of the car door as Tony, completely abandoning any semblance of dignity, sprawled across the bulk of the back seat with a groan. She sighed and gave him a shove, putting him close enough to upright to allow her room to sit up and reclaim the plastic bag, which was drooping from his hand. "You are heavy. You're getting fat, Tony."

He groaned. "After tonight, that's not going to be a problem, because I'm never eating again."

Smiling, she pried the crumpled-up paper towel out of his hands and used it to blot at his running nose in a motherly gesture. "I will believe that when I see it. Do not forget that tomorrow, you are required to eat turkey with all the 'fixins'."

Tony groaned louder.

Gibbs slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and turned around to look at them. "Can't you keep him quiet? He sounds like a dying cow."

"A _cow_?" Tony choked out.

Gibbs shrugged. "A bull."

"At least that is the correct gender," Ziva offered lightly.

"Buckle your seatbelts, folks." Without giving them a chance to do as ordered, Gibbs stepped on the gas, sending them back against the seats. Ziva quickly slipped a hand behind Tony's head to keep it from snapping back. He rewarded the gesture with a burp and a lunge for the plastic bag.

With a sigh, she handed it over to him, buckled in first herself and then him, and settled back into the seat. It was going to be an interesting evening.

* * *

**A/N: I still owe you guys a post-ep from last week, but I haven't had a chance to catch up yet. Things might get shuffled around, chapter-wise, once I get to that.**


	13. Post Child's Play, part 2

A/N: Tonight was a rerun that was preempted by Obama's speech, so you guys get a second post-ep for last week's "Child's Play," instead. The scene: Ducky's bathroom, as the team continues to celebrate Thanksgiving in the other room...

* * *

"Oops." Tony stopped short in the doorway of Ducky's small guest bathroom and managed to coax his slightly numb face into an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I didn't know you were in here. Why didn't you lock the door?"

Ziva stood blinking at him in front of the sink, obviously as surprised to see him as he was to see her. "I thought I had," she said, furrowing her brow at the doorknob he was still holding onto. "However, I am unfamiliar with this type of knob, and..." She shrugged. "Apparently I was incorrect. Please, come in," she urged with reflexive courtesy, gesturing an invitation at him.

He automatically did as she asked, then found himself almost on top of her as the two of them struggled to fit in the tiny room. "I don't think this is a multi-person bathroom, Ziva." He backed up, tripped over her foot, which had somehow made its way between his, and barely caught himself before he crashed into the door, which slammed closed when his hand hit it.

Ziva's eyes widened and she moved to catch him. "Tony!"

"I'm ok!" he hastened to tell her, embarrassed at his clumsiness. "Sorry. That wine Ducky's feeding us is stronger than I thought." He chuckled self-consciously.

She smiled. "He said that a grateful family made it and gave it to him. I believe homemade wine tends to be somewhat more alcoholic than store-bought." Suddenly, the smile disappeared and she was frowning at him. "Are you certain that you should be drinking tonight? With the medication that Ducky gave you for the vomiting yesterday -"

"I'm fine, Ziva," he said, suddenly not as amused now that she had reminded him of the way they had spent the previous evening. His memory wasn't entirely clear - he had spent most of the night focused on his nausea - but he was pretty sure there was a pair of her shoes somewhere that were wearing some of his clam chowder. "I should, um, let you finish up in here." Awkwardly, he reached under her arm - when had they turned themselves around so she was between him and the door? - for the doorknob. "Sorry for walking in on you."

Ziva waved away his apology. "It is not the first time, and it will not be the last, I am sure. Here, let me -" She attempted to move aside, but succeeded only in stepping on his foot.

"Ow! Ziva!"

She threw her head back and glared up at him defiantly, miffed by his accusing tone. "Perhaps if your feet weren't so _large_!"

He opened his mouth to retort, then processed her words and smiled slowly. "You think they're big?" he asked thoughtfully, raising one foot and looking down. "I mean, they _are _a size twelve, and -"

Raising an eyebrow, she finished for him, "...you know what they say?" She rolled her eyes and used her foot to push his back to the ground. "You Americans are obsessed with phallic symbolism, rather than simply enjoying the real thing. I can tell you from experience that shoe size does _not _correlate strongly with -"

"Ziva!"

"What?"

"Leave me my illusions, please."

She cocked her head to the side and regarded him with a smirk. "Illusions about you? Or about me?"

"I...both!"

Still smiling, she lowered her eyes to look down his body, and then back up to his face. "But there is no need to settle for illusions, Tony." Her mouth curved into a slow smile. "I can tell you from experience that you are more than adequate."

His jaw dropped as his alcohol-muddled mind and his ears sent a series of messages back and forth to each other, trying to verify what she had said. Finally, he settled for a less-than-impressive "Oh?" as a reply.

She nodded, still smiling but now more teasingly than seductively. "As could Gibbs and, were she still alive, Director Shepherd."

The pleasant train of thought he had embarked upon to try to figure out when she had experienced his adequacy abruptly derailed as he realized the day she was referring to. "You were the one who insisted we go for realism!" he pointed out defensively.

"I was," she agreed, shifting her weight towards him. The already-small gap between them shrank a bit more. "And it was quite..." Her eyes flicked down again. "Enlightening."

Comprehension dawned in his eyes. "I found it pretty enlightening, myself," he commented, bracing his hands against the back of the door and leaning his upper body forward. He suddenly had a very good view down the v-neck of her jacket.

One of her hands touched his stomach, then flattened itself there over his shirt and tie. He responded by tightening his muscles, and she tipped her head back to look into his face, gently prodded his abdominal muscles, and commented coolly, "These are also more than adequate."

Emboldened by her touch, he raised a hand and brushed it over the exposed skin of her chest. "And th-"

Without warning, the door shook under his hands as someone hammered on it from the other side. "You getting sick in there, Tony?" Gibbs's voice called.

They jumped apart as if their boss could see through the door. "Um," Tony managed to call back, "n-" He stopped there as Ziva shook her head _yes _at him vehemently. "A little," he revised obediently, although he was unsure why she wanted him to. For effect, he coughed.

"He will be fine," Ziva said loudly. "He is simply being a baby."

Affecting an offended look at the accusation, Tony widened his eyes and put a hand to his chest as if to say, _Me?!_

Ziva caught his hand and grinned, but shook her head, indicating caution.

There was silence from the other side of the door for a few seconds, and then an incredulous, "...Ziva?"

She gave Tony a warning glance, then pushed him away from her, toward the toilet, and cracked the door. "There is no more room in here, Gibbs," she said, poking her head through the opening. "But if you would like to take over for me -"

"No, no," he said hastily, holding up his hands in submission. "I just...didn't know you were in here with him."

Gibbs's eyes had narrowed thoughtfully, and Ziva quickly tried to head off the line of thought that was obvious on his face: "Yes, well, I thought that since I spent much of the past twenty-four hours with his vomit, it would be the polite thing to do, on a holiday, to continue with it so the rest of you didn't have to."

Still looking unconvinced, Gibbs forced the door open another inch and peered past Ziva to where Tony had managed to quickly arrange himself kneeling next to the raised toilet seat. He gave Gibbs a wan smile. "I'm ok, boss. I'll be out in a few minutes. Just gotta, you know, clean myself up."

Gibbs withdrew his head from the bathroom, apparently satisfied by what he had seen. "I can give you a ride home if you want," he offered to Tony, obviously eager for the opportunity to escape the holiday. "Ducky will understand."

"No, no!" Tony jumped to his feet. "I feel ok now, actually. Guess I just had to get it out."

"Hm." Unhappy with having his excuse taken away, Gibbs shrugged. "Then I'll see you guys in a few minutes," he said, looking pointedly from Tony to Ziva.

"Sure, Boss. I just need to -"

Gibbs interrupted by shoving his arm past Ziva and tapping on his watch so both of them could see. "Two minutes, DiNozzo."

Tony swallowed. "Right. Two minutes."


	14. Chapter 14

"Would you stop that?" Ziva snapped, slapping a hand down on top of Tony's when he reached back into the metal canister he was holding.

He raised his eyebrows and pulled his hand out from under hers, managing to sneak a few of the wasabi-coated dried peas he had been reaching for out of the can. Popping one into his mouth, he shrugged. "I didn't have any lunch, Ziva."

"That -" She raised a hand and snatched his out of the air as he made to throw the rest of his handful toward the ducks that were watching him from the pond they were sitting on the edge of, "- is no reason to torture the poor water fowl." She pried the peas out of his hand and ate them herself, so he couldn't use them for his purposes. "Ducks do not like wasabi, Tony."

"Hey, they liked the first couple," he protested, taking advantage of her concentration on chewing to grab another handful out of the can and fling them toward the ducks. "The big one almost drowned two others trying to get to them!"

"They thought they were bread! Most humans do not throw things that they do not know ducks eat!" Exasperated with him, she sighed and sat up straighter, changing the subject. "This park must have a ladies room somewhere, yes?"

"Sure." He threw another handful of peas into his mouth, then said through them, "You know, if you ate more salty stuff - like, say, these peas - you wouldn't have to pee so much."

"Thank you for that wisdom, Doctor DiNozzo," she said sarcastically, and stood up. "I am going to find the restrooms. If I am not back in ten minutes -"

"I'll send McGee in after you," he finished with a grin.

She gave him a halfhearted glare, but before she could come up with a good comeback, the imperative of her full bladder overruled her desire to snark at him, and she headed for where she remembered seeing a squat brick building when they had entered the park to begin their stakeout. A building usually meant facilities, she reasoned.

Chuckling at her hasty retreat, Tony ate a few more wasabi peas, threw the largest duck a correspondingly large pea, and returned his attention to the hot dog vendor they were supposed to be keeping their eyes on.

* * *

With a sigh, Ziva splashed a handful of rusty water on her face and turned off the tap with one of the the rough brown paper towels she had managed to coax out of the equally-rusty paper towel dispenser. That towel went into what she hypothesized had once been a trash bin, before it had started its current life as a graffiti display, and she raised a second towel to her face to wipe off the water.

The bathroom door slammed open and, just as quickly, slammed closed again, and by the time she had managed to use one hand to whip the towel from her face, the other was clenching into a fist to defend herself. She stopped short when she realized that the potential attacker was only Tony, who was leaning back against the door and grinning at her. "Hey," he said casually, as if he hadn't noticed that he had scared the daylights out of her for a moment. "What's up?"

Ziva blinked and balled up the paper towel. "I believe that question would be more appropriate if I were the one asking it," she pointed out as she tossed the towel into the trash can, "given that what is 'up' with me is that I just finished washing my hands after using the ladies' room."

"Oh, yeah, well..." He shrugged and flipped the lock on the door behind his back with one hand.

"And it is fortunate that you were not a minute earlier," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the flaking paint of the bathroom's lone stall.

"Why?"

She smirked. "The stall's door does not lock."

Tony's eyebrows shot up as he looked from her to stall.

Point scored, Ziva cocked her head to the side and turned her attention to more realistic matters. "Shouldn't you be out there," she asked, pointing, "watching the suspect?"

He shook his head. "The vendor took the drop. McGee and Gibbs collared him before I could even get over there."

"That is good." When he didn't move, she leaned experimentally around him toward where the door handle would have been if he wasn't blocking it.. "You came in here to tell me this?"

"Nope," he replied, not moving.

"You felt that we had not been locked in a bathroom together for more than a week, and we were overdue?" she guessed again as it became obvious that he was not going to yield ground.

He cleared his throat. "Something like that."

"Ah." She moved to lean back against the counter, but stopped before her hands made contact with the concrete. Distracted for a moment by the realization of what she had almost touched, she wrinkled her nose. "This place is...unclean."

"Oh, come on, Ziva," Tony teased, pushing off the door. "You've been in worse places than this."

"Certainly. But generally" - she rubbed her hands together, trying to dust off non-existent grime - "I do not linger." Sighing, she crossed her arms and allowed her backside to rest against the counter instead of her hands. "There are nicer restrooms for us to meet in, Tony. Is it necessary for us to use this one?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because everywhere else, Gibbs is _watching_ us!" he blurted, throwing up his hands.

She blinked. "Oh?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "You hadn't noticed?"

"Gibbs watches me quite regularly, Tony. I am used to it. But -" She uncrossed her arms slowly as his meaning dawned on her. "You believe he is watching...us? As in, 'us'?"

"Maybe," he said warily, obviously unsure what her reaction to that fact would be.

"And so you followed me in here because...?" she prompted.

He looked at her for a second, mouth slightly open, and then seemed to gather his courage. "I wanted some...privacy."

"For?"

In one step, he moved from the door to the sink to loom over her. "Let's just say I wanted to discuss your views on my 'adequacy'."

Surprised at the straightforwardness of the statement, she straightened up and narrowed her eyes, studying him.

He met her gaze, planted his hands on the counter, trapping her between him and it, and cautiously lowered his head to hers for a light, nipping kiss.

When he pulled away after a second, giving her time to react, Ziva lowered her eyelashes and licked her lips experimentally. "Wasabi."

Tony stared at her and pulled away another inch. "That's all you have to say?"

She executed what might have been either a blink or a flutter of her eyelashes and smiled. Going up on her toes, she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, drawing his head down to hers, put her lips against his ear, and whispered, "Better it is me than the ducks."

"What?" He blinked. "What the hell does that even - Ziva!"

She was gone, leaving behind only a vague impression of the grin that he thought he had seen on her face.

* * *

A/N: Getting kind of desperate for material and inspiration, here. Could you tell? Thank god next week is a new ep!


	15. Post Faith

"I don't think anything is broken, dear boy," Ducky said as he carefully wrapped an ice pack around Tony's hand, "but I'd recommend you take it easy on those knuckles for a day or two. You'll have some swelling, of course, and -"

"Yeah, I'll be careful, Duck," Tony cut him off impatiently. "But right now, I've got a suspect I need to talk to. So if you're sure Ziva's _stupidity_ didn't cost me any bones, my _probie_ and I are going to get going."

Ziva, who had been bending over and examining Ducky's work on her partner's hand, stiffened. "What stupidity?" she demanded. "I did not do anything that -"

Tony lifted a hand to stop her, then winced as the movement sent his ice pack flying and his knuckles screaming. "You started a bar brawl, Ziva! No, you know what? Ducky," he went on, turning his attention back to the older man, "thanks. We're going to get going." He knelt down to pick up his ice pack, slapped it back over his hand, and straightened up. "Now," he added, glaring at Ziva.

Rather than argue about such a minor point, Ziva stalked out of the morgue after him.

After a tense elevator ride up two floors, Tony headed straight for the men's room, wanting to take a closer look at his hand. It wasn't until he got to the door that he realized that she was still right behind him. "Ziva -" he began, turning to face her.

She fixed narrowed eyes on his face and braced a hand on the door frame, blocking his retreat. "Do not even think about it."

"Fine. Fine!" He pushed his way into the bathroom, taking pleasure in the thud as the door smacked her in the calf when she tried to scramble through it after him. "But you're just going to have to suck it up and wait if I need to take a -"

"I did not _start _the brawl!" she interrupted, crossing her arms and advancing on him. Tony quickly found himself in the familiar position of being pinned between Ziva and the bathroom sinks. "He accosted me, and I simply defended myself!"

"By escalating the situation!" he shot back. "You could have just pushed his hand away, but _no_, you had to twist his arm and put him on his knees! In a bar full of his buddies!"

"It was not my fault!" Ziva insisted, stomping her foot angrily. "If I had not, he would simply have continued to - what?" she broke off as Tony's lips twitched into a smile.

He tried to force a straight face, but couldn't completely rid himself of the smirk. "You just stomped your foot," he informed her. "Like a freaking six-year-old."

"I did no such thing!"

"You did too!"

Without warning, she rose up on her toes, putting her face an inch away from his. "I did not! And if you value your other hand, you will agree with me!"

A laugh escaped through Tony's nose as he tried to stifle it. Her nose was a hair's width away from his lips, she was practically standing on his feet, and he knew he could upset her balance with a quick push if he wanted to. "Or what, you'll stomp again? On me?"

"No, I will - I did not _stomp_, Tony! I simply...put my foot down, forcefully."

"You gonna 'put your foot down forcefully' on me?"

She tilted her head back another degree and looked up at him through hooded eyes. "Perhaps."

"Do I get a warning before you do?"

She smiled. "Perhaps." Then, with a considering look, she backed up a fraction of an inch. "Of course, you jumped into the fight rather quickly, yourself. Perhaps if I had not acted, you would have?"

Tony snorted. "Fat chance."

"You would not protect my...chastity?" She said the last word slowly, unsure if it was the term she was fishing for.

He blinked and pulled back far enough to be able to focus his eyes on her. "Pretty sure you were going for 'honor' there, Ziva. I think I can say with a fair amount of assurance that your chastity is long gone."

She winced at the slip-up, then couldn't stifle a giggle. "Yes, I suppose it is." Another snicker broke through her attempt at a poker face. "_Long _gone."

Tony choked on a laugh. "Long, _long _gone."

Their eyes met, and they gave up on holding it back. When McGee walked in a few seconds later, he found them both collapsed against the sinks, howling with laughter.

* * *

A/N: What can I say, I was in a whimsical mood. Not sure if this ending makes sense anywhere but in my head, but I guess we'll find out!


	16. Post Faith, part 2

A/N: Re-uploading this chapter to fix a canon error that a few readers pointed out (thanks Justalilbitaluck and aqiran!)

* * *

Still shocked at having survived his encounter with Dolores, Tony looked down at his empty arms and blinked. Dolores was walking away from him, and he could tell even from behind that she was beaming down at the doll he'd given her. Smiling in spite of himself, he looked up and found Ziva watching him with motherly approval. "What?" he asked, stopping a few feet from her.

She shrugged. "Nothing. Just..." She shrugged again, surprised at her own inability to put it into words. "You did well."

"What? With Dolores?" He glanced over his shoulder at the older woman's retreating form. "It's just a doll, you know." Uncomfortably, he ran a hand through his hair.

Shaking her head, Ziva took a step toward him. "It wasn't just a doll. It was _the_ doll. And you know that. Though," she added, furrowing her brow, "when I suggested you research her wants, I did not imagine that you would somehow come up with what she wanted as a child. I had no idea NCIS personnel files were that...thorough."

He grinned. "Worried what's in yours?"

Laughing, Ziva patted his shoulder as she strode past him. "Nothing is in mine that Mossad did not approve of being in mine. And I am sure that, knowing me as well as you do," she told him sarcastically, "you can guess what I wanted for Chanukkah when I was eight years old."

"A dollhouse?" he guessed.

Ziva rolled her eyes and kept going, heading for the ladies' room with the intention of a pit stop before heading home for the evening.

But Tony dogged her heels, firing more guesses as they went. "Mossad Barbie? Your own menorah? _A pink princess dress_?" he tried desperately when nothing he said seemed to catch her attention.

Ziva stopped in the bathroom doorway and stared at him, then laughed incredulously. "Pink?"

"Ok, not the princess type," he hedged as she started walking again. "A pony?"

"Our garden in Tel Aviv was not large enough to house a pony." With a disdainful snort, she stopped in front of the mirror and ran a hand over her hair. "Clearly you do not know me as well as you thought."

Tony's eyes widened, then narrowed at the insult. "Oh, it's _on_ now, David. I'm not going to stop until I have _nailed_ what you wanted when you were eight."

Ziva laughed again and spun around to face him for a second before setting out toward the bathroom stalls. "If that is the best you can do," she called over her shoulder as she pulled open a stall door, "then my childhood secrets and I have nothing to fear!"

Tony froze with a triumphant look on his face. "So it's a childhood _secret_, huh?" With more eagerness than forethought, he followed her to the stall, and said through the now-closed door, "Is it juicy? Dead bodies? Secret love interests? Family murder plots? Ooh!" he added, surprised at his own cleverness. "Did you want to help your father on one of his secret Mossad missions?"

The toilet flushed and the stall door opened a crack, displaying Ziva's suddenly-set face. "To help him on a Mossad mission? Not necessarily," she sighed, dusting her hands against the seat of her pants and stepping out of the stall. "What I wanted was to have him to myself for a day. I would not have cared _what_ we did, as long as I could have been with him."

"Oh." Suddenly sorry he had pressed the issue, he wiped the smile off his face and lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Ziva. You're right, I sho-"

"I have grown past it," she cut him off abruptly. "I am no longer eight years old. And I am no longer my father's faithful lapdog."

Tony nodded dutifully. "You, uh...talked to him lately?" he ventured after a second, following Ziva as she headed for the sink and began washing her hands. "I mean, since -"

She opened the tap with such force that hot water gushed out of the faucet and splashed into and right back out of the sink, soaking her middle. "_Tombel_!" she cursed at herself, shutting off the tap a few seconds too late. "Idiot!"

"I'll take that as a no?"

"No," she said after taking a second to compose herself. "I have not spoken to him." Not looking at him, she attempted to wring out her sodden shirt.

She didn't specify whether she had _tried_ to speak to him or not, and Tony was too wise to pry. "So, um, Ziva," he said, watching her wince at the touch of the cold, wet fabric, "you got any plans tonight? I mean, it's Christmas Eve -"

"I do not celebrate Christmas, Tony."

"I know! You didn't let me finish. I was going to say that it's Christmas Eve, which means that while a lot of _other_ people have plans, you probably don't, so..."

Giving up on her shirt, Ziva turned to face him. "So?"

"Well, I mean, all my American Jewish friends say that it's practically a tradition here for them to go out for Chinese food on Christmas..."

"Chinese food?" Ziva blinked, considering that. "Restaurants are open tonight? I thought everything in the United States shut down for Christian holidays."

"Well, the Chinese restaurants stay open, anyway." He grinned. "I guess the Chinese don't celebrate Christmas, either. So, what do you say? Dim sum at midnight?"

Ziva nodded and slipped an arm through his. "Dim sum, yes. But if you manage to keep my attention until midnight..." She smiled. "I will be impressed."


	17. Post Faith, part 3

"Enough!" Ziva laughed, pushing away the small teapot that Tony was trying to force across the table at her. "I cannot drink another sip unless you let me up for a bathroom break!"

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, then seemed to make up his mind and let the teapot come back toward him. "You're not going to run out on me, are you? Because I don't have any cash, and I don't think this restaurant takes -"

"Tony, you didn't!" Her bladder forgotten, she could only stare at him in horror. "I do not know if I have any cash, either! You should have told me before we -"

His look of alarm crumbled into amusement and he snickered as if he couldn't hold it in any longer. "I'm kidding, Ziva. I did the inviting tonight, I'll do the paying."

"You...!" Glaring, she socked him on the arm hard enough to make him wince, then turned and flounced toward the bathroom.

Not bothering to hide his grin, Tony watched her retreating form for a second before he turned back to his dim sum.

-----------

Ziva turned off the sink in the tiny one-person bathroom and rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror, wondering how he had taken her in so easily with the joke about money. It was unlike Tony to be able to keep a straight face for so long, and it was unlike her to not notice the warning signs in his expression. Clearly, she was distracted tonight, and that was unacceptable. She was going to have to pull back, stop laughing so much. Stop looking at him so much.

Still, it had been an enjoyable evening, and she regretted the need to do any of those things.

With a resigned sigh, she pulled open the door, took a step out of the room, and cannoned right into the flannel-clad chest of an elderly man who had been about to knock on the door. The man grabbed her elbow to keep her from bouncing backwards, and Ziva winced in embarrassment. "I am so sorry!" she gasped, extricating herself from the man's grasp and looking up. "I was not looking where -" She stopped there, blinking at what turned out to be a familiar face. "What...?"

"Well now, I know that face," Jackson Gibbs said with a smile. "Fancy meetin' you here, Ziva."

Mouth working, Ziva looked over her shoulder toward the table Tony was still sitting at. She could just see the edge of his sleeve around the corner of the hallway; from his position, she didn't think Jackson could. But then, if he was in this hallway with her, he had to have come through the restaurant, and could very well have spotted the other agent on his way. "Yes," she finally managed, looking back at Jackson, "this is...quite a surprise. What are you doing here? Well, I don't mean here," she added, gesturing at the bathroom, "but _here_."

"Oh, had a hankering for an egg roll," he replied. "Borrowed Leroy's car, told him I was gonna take a ride."

"And he let you? It is almost midnight!"

Jackson winced slightly. "Well, when I say _told_, I mean something more like 'I left him a note'."

Ziva, catching the meaning of what Jackson wasn't saying, raised her eyebrows. "And does he know that you 'borrowed' his car?"

"The man's asleep, Ziva. What kind of father would I be if I woke up my own son from a sound sleep when there was no emergency?"

She laughed. "So you stole his car and went out looking for...what was it, eggrolls?"

"Yep." Unabashed by her summation of his wrongdoing, he grinned at her. "And I guess I wasn't the only one who wanted an egg roll tonight, huh?"

"Ah, well," Ziva stammered, "as you know, I do not celebrate Christmas, and there are very few places open tonight if one is hungry, so -"

"Oh, I know all that," Jackson said with a smile and a wave of his hand. "Although," he went on, leaning around her to look into the restaurant, "I didn't know your partner was Jewish, too."

"My..." She coughed. "My partner?"

"Yeah, DiNozzo." He shifted his weight, bringing purposely innocent eyes back to her. "Pretty sure that was him I passed on my way back here." He raised his eyebrows in a very Gibbs-like expression that told her he would wait as long as necessary for an explanation.

She coughed again. "Well, yes, it is him. And he is not Jewish. But we were the last ones out of the office tonight, and we were both hungry, and as I said, there are so few places open tonight that, uh -" She stopped short there when Jackson lowered and raised one eyelid in a distinct wink at her. "I beg your pardon?" she managed after staring for a second at that eye.

Grinning, Jackson patted her shoulder. "I'm not one to tell tales out of school, Ziva. And I ain't my son, with all his rules. Don't know where he got them damn fool things," he added, almost as an aside to himself, "but they sure didn't come from me. So if you folks want to enjoy some, ahem, _egg rolls _on this fine Christmas Eve, well then, I'm not gonna be the one to stop you." Before Ziva could come up with a suitable reply, he had dropped a kiss on her cheek, whispered a "Merry Christmas" into her ear, and disappeared from the hallway, leaving her blinking after him.

She stared after him for a second, mentally replaying their conversation. Although in many ways she saw his son in him, it was clear that Jackson adhered to a different code, and tonight that code had been on her side. They were safe as long as Jackson was the one keeping the secret, if only because she knew how much he would love to know something about Gibbs's team that Gibbs himself didn't. So, still shaking her head at the encounter, she made her way back to where Tony was waiting.

He had obviously spotted the retreating Gibbs, and fixed alarmed eyes on her as she slid into her seat. "Was that -?"

"Yes," she said, reaching serenely for her tea cup.

"Well is his -"

Still calm, she smiled. "No."

"Are you sure he won't -"

"Yes, Tony." She patted his hand and picked up the teapot to refill her cup. "He will not tell."

"Oh." His face relaxed into the distinctive DiNozzo smile, and he leaned back in his chair. "In that case, pour me another round."


	18. Post Ignition

As Gibbs disappeared into the elevator, his order to _figure it out _still hanging in the air, Tony and Ziva looked from his back to each other. Their eyes met, and in unison, they said, "Campfire!"

"What, now?" McGee, attention caught by the announcement, started to stand up, but before he got halfway there, he was stopped by the warning finger Tony held up.

"Not you, McFearlessLeader."

Blinking, McGee sat back down. "Well, how are you going to have a campfire without -" He broke off there when it became obvious he had been dismissed. Tony and Ziva were looking at each other again and had tuned him out.

"Your place or mine?" Tony asked.

Ziva narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, then nodded. "Yours."

And with that, they turned and left a very confused McGee still trying to puzzle out whether he had just heard one of his teammates proposition the other.

* * *

A minute later, Tony and Ziva regrouped inside the men's room. "Why mine?" he asked over his shoulder as he locked the door behind them.

Ziva shrugged. "Men spend less aggregate time in the restroom. Therefore, the men's room is more likely to be empty when we need it." She leaned one shoulder against the towel dispenser and crossed her arms. "So? You called the campfire; how shall we 'figure it out'?"

"I didn't call the campfire, you did," he replied.

Widening her eyes at the accusation, she uncrossed her arms. "You said it first!"

"I did not!" He took a step in from the door. "We said it at the same time."

Cocking her head to the side, she regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and then decided on a tactic. "But Tony," she said with her most admiring look, reaching out to trail a finger down his lapel, "I thought that since _you _were the senior field agent..."

"Oh, that's low." He paused, watching her finger's progress down his jacket. "So's that."

She smiled. "And yet it is true. And you are free to stop me if I am making you...uncomfortable."

Tony cleared his throat as her finger reached his coat pocket, snagged on it, and stopped. "I didn't say it was making me uncomfortable. _You_, Agent David, are incapable of making me uncomfortable. I understand you too well," he finished, tapping a finger to his temple knowingly.

"Do you?" Her lips curved up slightly. "Perhaps I only let you think that you do." She dragged her finger from his pocket around to his navel. "And perhaps you will never know which it is."

With a laugh, he reached up and caught her finger before it could begin moving any further. "Oookay. And 'perhaps' I'll let you keep thinking that I don't know which it is." He leaned forward, pressing her hand down to force her arm back to her side. "But you and me, Ziva?" he said, an inch from her face. He lowered his voice and flashed her his biggest grin. "We know the truth."

As quick as a snake, Ziva uncoiled herself, snatched her hand back from him, and pinned him against the wall. "And what is the truth we both know, Tony?" she purred, flattening her hands on his chest and leaning her weight on them. "Is it that we both know..." She quirked a smile and dropped her eyes toward his crotch. "_...exactly _what you are thinking right now?"

Tony blinked down at her, surprised by the sudden attack.

Still smiling, Ziva lowered her lashes and stepped back. "You do not have to tell me I am right," she said, suddenly businesslike. "All you need to do is...figure it out. _Senior_ Field Agent DiNozzo."

He continued to stare at her for a second, processing, and then shook himself like a wet dog, clearing his head. "This wasn't exactly what I meant when I said 'campfire,' Agent David. But for inspiration...you could do worse."

Her smile widened into a conspiratorial grin. "As long as we do not have to invite McGee to campfires where I use this...methodology."

"Deal."

* * *

**A/N: As I was Eureka-ing the idea for this, I promptly forgot what it was that Gibbs had told them to figure out! Would have loved to segue this into the next scene, but I couldn't remember if 'figure it out' had had anything to do with that radio control chip or not!**


	19. Post Flesh and Blood

"I can see the resemblance, a bit."

Tony froze with his pants half-zipped, then determinedly finished the job before turning around to look at Ziva, who was smiling at him from where she had her back pressed against the bathroom door. "Didn't think I'd see you in here."

She sauntered deeper into the room, until she could see herself clearly enough in the mirror to begin fixing her hair. "Where did you think you would see me, then?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "Ladies' room. MTAC. My father's suite."

Curious, she turned back to face him. "Now, why would I be in your father's suite?"

"Maybe the two of you can trade hair tips. Now, if you'll excuse me," he went on, not giving her time to reply, "I need to go make sure Gibbs isn't killing 'Senior'. Or vice versa."

"You have been told not to interfere in his interrogation, Tony," she said, slipping sideways to block his route to the door. "I do not think it would be wise for you to antagonize Gibbs any further by flouting his order."

"So...what?" He spread his arms wide, indicating their surroundings. "I should hang out in here with you?"

"Do you have a better place to be?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Yeah. Interrogation. The hallway _outside _Interrogation," he corrected himself before she could.

Ziva narrowed her eyes, studying him. "If I did not know better, I would say that you do not want to speak to me."

"What?" He forced an incredulous-sounding laugh. "Why would you think that? Move," he ordered, pushing past her to the sinks.

"Because generally..." With another catlike move, she appeared beside him, crowding him as he reached for the tap. "...you are more than happy to be locked in a restroom with me. Or at least," she hedged as he opened his mouth, "more tolerant of it."

"Hah." Doing his best to ignore her, he elbowed her aside and went to work scrubbing his hands.

Stumbling slightly at the bump, Ziva caught herself quickly and hit him with a well-aimed hip-check, sending him flying into the opposite wall.

"Ow!" he protested, rubbing his shoulder where it had impacted the wall, then wincing as he realized that he had just applied a handful of suds to his designer suit. "Crap." Whipping a paper towel out of the dispenser, he turned on her. "What the hell was that for?"

Ziva went up on her toes to push her face toward his. "You may be bigger than me, Tony," she hissed, staring him down, "but you will never win in a fight. Do not start one."

Rolling his eyes, he sidestepped back to the sink to rinse his hands off before their coating of soap got on anything else. "Who's starting a fight?"

"You."

"Ok," he challenged, "if I'm starting a fight, what are we fighting about? Huh? Tell me that!" he finished triumphantly when she had no quick response.

"We are _fighting -" _She turned off the sink before he could and slapped a paper towel into his hand. "- about why you are denying that you are starting a fight!"

He rolled his eyes again. "Your English isn't getting any better, no matter how long you're here."

That distracted her. "What?" she gasped, offended by the implication. "That was a perfectly correct English sentence! What was wrong with it?"

"You can't...you know," he attempted, waving his hand as if that would help him clarify things, "have two -ing things together! It's just not right!"

Ziva snorted. "Like we cannot have two DiNozzos together? Perhaps the two words will rub each other the wrong _way_, Tony? Perhaps one '-ing word' will be afraid to have the other meet his friends?"

"Hey, don't make this about me! I correct your English all the time!"

"When it is incorrect!" she shot back. "Which it is not, this time!"

Tony crumpled up his paper towel and slammed it into the garbage can. "Why would I tell you it was wrong if it wasn't?"

"To distract me!" Narrowing one eye, she leaned toward him, smiling slightly when he automatically inched away. "But it did not work. So." Widening her smile, she touched his shoulder, wiping off some of the soapy residue. "Since I am not distracted, and you are so _clearly _not uneasy about him, shall we talk about your father?"

"No."

"Oh, good," she went on as if he had answered the opposite. "Because I am sure you are interested to know how much of you I see in him. Or possibly the reverse." She thought about that for a second. "I suppose it would have to be the reverse, hm? Since he came first, I mean." She smiled brightly. "You are both similarly interested in your hair."

He crossed his arms and glared at her, then uncrossed them, forced himself to relax, and leaned a shoulder against the wall, making a show of being unconcerned. "What else, Ziva? Go on, get it all out. I want to get back to Interrogation sooner rather than later."

Cocking her head to the side, she looked at him closely. "What is it that you are afraid I will say?"

"Nothing."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Jesus, I thought you were the one who wanted to talk about this. If you've got nothing, then I am _out _of here." Turning away from her, he reached for the door handle.

"There is a flightiness in him that I do not see in you," she spoke up, making him stop in his tracks. "And an uneasiness. It is as if he has never quite grown up, and is uncomfortable with people who have. You, among them."

Silently, he turned back to face her, hand still on the door.

"He is also far better at hiding his emotions," she went on, pursing her lips in amusement. "I can read you much more easily."

"Oh yeah? What am I thinking now?"

Giving him a beatific smile, she reached past him to pull the door open for him. "You are very glad I forced you to stay in here long enough to hear that I do _not _think you are your father."

He stopped with one foot on the threshold and looked back at her. For a second, she thought he would actually agree, but he just nodded at her, lowered his eyes, and left the room.

"Hm." Satisfied with her work, she leaned toward the mirror, tucked her newly-layered hair behind her ear, and grinned at her reflection. "On the other hand," she murmured to no one in particular, "_he _noticed my hair cut."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** Since tonight was a rerun, I'm using a story scenario suggested by a wonderfully helpful reader, bat-with-butterfly-wings. Got a bathroom scenario you'd like to happen? Include it in your review and I might just use it in a future chapter!

* * *

"Hey Ziva, you in here?" Tony called, giving the ladies' room door a solid push. "I need to ask you about that -" he began, and then, as he poked his head in the door and heard voices, froze.

"...going on," a high-pitched voice was saying from one of the stalls. The voice's owner showed no signs of having heard his voice before he pushed the door open, and casually went on, "I mean, Cassie - you know, from Analysis? - she told me that he came wandering in here looking for you twice last week, as if it was perfectly _normal_."

He knew that voice. Abby. Intrigued, Tony silently slipped through the door, hugging the bathroom wall, and eased the door shut.

"So come on, Ziva!" Abby went on, oblivious to the newcomer. "Spill!"

From the other stall, Ziva's throaty laugh rang out. "There is nothing to 'spill', Abby. We have simply gotten into the habit of speaking to each other in the rest rooms if one of us happens to be in there." A rustle of clothing, and the shuffle of Ziva's feet being re-planted on the floor. "The occupants of the men's room do not seem to mind."

Abby giggled. "Yeah, because you walking in on them is the probably one of their _dirtiest _fantasies," she teased the other woman. "The men of NCIS," she commented over the clanking of the chains on her skirt, "don't get out much. Well, with the exception of Tony -" she added.

"- who gets out too much," Ziva finished for her, laughing. "You know, I do not think even _he_ has been getting out as much as he used to." Her fingers tapped against the metal of the stall, and Tony braced himself for a quick escape in case she was about to emerge, but when the door didn't open after a few seconds, he relaxed again. "Do you remember..." Ziva said slowly, "that time we were shopping for a friend for Bert? And I warned you about -"

Abby's chains clinked again. "Ohhh!" she said with dawning understanding. "Oh my god, Ziva, do you think he's -"

Ziva's fingers tapped again, this time in an impatient roll against the metal. "Of course. Anyway..." she said thoughtfully, "I do not think Tony gets out much anymore. Or at least, his outings are, shall we say, unsuccessful. It is perhaps because of -" She paused, coughing self-consciously. "Well, as you know, we went undercover as a couple once, and I was forced to endure certain...views. And," she went on quickly, seeming to have gotten up to working speed in her thoughts, "it was not as impressive as you might -"

"_Excuse me_!" Tony announced loudly, unable to stand any more of this conversation. He reached out and noisily banged the door, as if he had just walked in. "Ziva, you in here? I need to talk to you." She thought he was unimpressive? But she had told him on Thanksgiving that...Stifling a groan, he shook his head. Now was not the time. She'd be able to read his face once she came out of the stall.

Two sets of feet thumped against the floor as their owners stood up. Two toilets flushed. Abby's chains clinked and Ziva's zipper rasped, and then they appeared in the stall doorways, both with studied looks of innocence on their faces. "Hi, Tony!" Abby squealed, managing to make it sound only a bit forced.

"Hey, Abs," he replied, not looking at her. His eyes were on Ziva, whose mouth was twitching ever-so-slightly. Was she...laughing at him? "Hi, _Ziva_," he said pointedly, keeping his gaze on her.

She gave him a sunny smile and brushed past him to the sinks. "You needed to speak to me?"

Why was she smiling? Was she imagining his -

"Something wrong, Tony?" Ziva asked, leaning toward with a pleasantly solicitous look. "You look...uncomfortable."

"Diminished," Abby offered.

Ziva's polite smile turned sly. "...Shrunken?" she suggested.

"Shr-" he began to sputter, then caught the look on Abby's face. Unlike Ziva, Abby would never win at poker. Her darkened lips were only barely clamped shut over the wide grin that was threatening to split her face. "Hah," he managed, looking from one woman to the other as it hit him. "Hah, hah. Very funny, girls. You knew I was listening."

"Almost the whole time!" Abby burst out, twisting from side to side like a child too excited to stand still.

"You are not as quiet a walker as you seem to think you are," Ziva told him, smirking. "In fact, your walk is..." She looked at Abby. "What is the word?"

"Elephantine?" Abby supplied. "Clomp-y! Gallumphing?"

"Distinctive," Ziva finished.

"Loud," Abby summarized.

Tony wrinkled his nose at them in mock-disgust. "Shame on you both, tricking a guy like that."

Abby snickered. "You deserved it for sneaking in here to listen to us!"

"Hey, I was trying to find Ziva!"

"You have found me," Ziva pointed out. "So? What did you need to speak to me about?"

Tony blinked, not having actually thought out that part of his approach.

"Yeah," Abby said with a grin. "Must've been important, Ziva. I mean, he followed you in here and then waited while you peed and everything!" She turned to look at him expectantly. "So? What was it?"

Tony swallowed. "Oh. Um." He fidgeted under their combined gaze for a second, running a finger under his collar. "Well, um, that LeMont case, Ziva...I wanted you to take a look at my, um, report."

"I already did, Tony. Remember? McGee and I signed off on it before you turned it over to Gibbs." She wrinkled her brows and studied his face. "Did you forget?"

Caught, Tony laughed awkwardly and began backing toward the door. "Yeah. Guess I did. Hah. That was dumb of me."

Abby blinked, looking from him to Ziva, then smiled. "You know what, guys? I think I hear Major Mass Spec calling me from downstairs. I'll just...leave you alone. To figure out what it was that Tony wanted. From Ziva. In the bathroom. Um, bye!" She darted around Tony, who was blocking the route to the door, and fled into the squad room without giving either of them a chance to respond.

Alone now, Tony and Ziva stared at each other for a second.

"Unimpressive?" he finally blurted incredulously.

She smiled. "Perhaps you should not eavesdrop, hm?" She patted his cheek, smiled, and watched in amusement as, thoroughly routed, Tony slunk out of the room.

* * *

**Post-note**: Want more Tiva? Go read my other NCIS story, "The Prodigal" - updated tonight!


	21. Post Jetlag

When the "Fasten Seatbelt" sign blinked off an hour into the flight, Ziva stood up and stepped into the aisle. "I am going to the bathroom," she leaned down to whisper in Tony's ear.

He perked up from his half-snooze, uncrossed his arms, and looked up at her. Grinning, he caught her eye and mouthed, "Want help?"

Directing a half-hearted glare at him, she shook her head, shrugged off her jacket, and headed down the aisle toward the lavatories.

A minute later, she gave the accordion-folded bathroom door a tug and tried not to step into the toilet as she shut herself into the bathroom. Muttering to herself, she unspooled a handful of toilet paper from the dispenser and wiped down the toilet set before unbuckling her belt and getting down to business. She could very happily spend the rest of her life without entering another airplane bathroom, she decided as her elbow thunked into the plastic wall of the room when she attempted to pull up her pants a few seconds later.

At least it hadn't been her head that connected.

The door rattled and she raised her hand and braced it against the center panel to keep it from opening. "It is occupied!" she called, hating the cattle-call of transatlantic flights a bit more with each word.

In spite of her words, the lock clicked back and the door folded open. Ziva barely snatched her fingers away from the hinge before they were crushed. "_Excuse me_!" she snapped, turning to look at the intruder. "I said that this is - Tony?"

He gave her a secretive smile, looked over his shoulder, and slithered through the gap he'd managed to open in the door, closing it behind him. "Hi."

Ziva shuffled backward as much as possible, which was all of two inches, and crossed her arms. "Hello. May I ask why you just broke in on me?"

He shrugged. "Well, you know. When you gotta go...and the other ones were occupied..."

"_This _one was occupied!"

"Yeah, but I can't pee in front of any of the rest of the passengers like I can with you," he whined, looking anxious and squeezing past her toward the toilet.

She caught his arm and pulled him back around to face her. "You could not hold your bladder, so you left our witness _unprotected_?"

"Of course not!" He gave her a wounded look. "I'm not _dumb_, Ziva."

"You could have fooled me. If I am here, and you are here, and she is _there_, then how is she not unprotected?"

"Relax," he urged with an easy grin, turning back toward the toilet. "Neeley moved back to sit with her. He's chatting her up like a pro," he added over his shoulder. "She's fine."

Ziva snorted and turned him back around, with more force this time. He stumbled, stepped on her foot, stepped back, and caught his heel on the bottom of the sink's pedestal. "Ow, shit," he muttered, reaching down to massage his foot and inadvertently putting his face almost directly into Ziva's chest. "Crap." He tried to pull back, but she locked a hand around the back of his neck, holding him there.

"What an interesting position," Ziva mused, digging her fingers into the loose skin at his nape.

"Ziva..."

"And I mean that both literally and figuratively," she went on, ignoring his protest. "Interesting, indeed."

"Um, Ziva." Tony coughed and tried again to pull away. "You're on my carotid. Getting dizzy."

"Oh!" She lifted two fingers. "My apologies. Better?"

"Much," he wheezed into her left breast.

"Good. Now," she went on conversationally, using her remaining grip on his neck to turn him so that one of his eyes was looking up at her, "tell me again why you broke in on me?"

"_Muh-ll-k_." He didn't meet her eyes.

"What?" Noticing belatedly that his face was turning an unattractive shade of red, she quickly released him.

Tony took a step back, pulled his collar out of where it had been digging into his neck, and loosened his tie before looking her in the eye. "Well, you know," he managed tentatively, "this is probably the first and last time we're going to have access to a business-class airplane restroom...from Paris...a _mile _in the air..."

Ziva's eyes narrowed, and she smiled slightly. "Ah. I see. And what makes you think this is a situation that needs to be acted upon?"

"I like new experiences." He wet his lips and smiled at her. "And after last night -"

"Wait, wait, wait," she interrupted suddenly. "New experiences? You have not..." A knowing smile worked its way across her lips. "I see."

He lowered his brows and stepped back toward her until their bodies were touching. "Well?"

"You are sure the Air Marshal is with her?"

Tony smiled slowly and lifted his hands high enough to trail them down her arms to her wrists. "Positive," he whispered.

She turned her hands into his and leaned forward.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Tony slid into Ziva's seat as Neeley stood up from his. "Everything go ok?" he asked the marshal, straightening his tie absently.

"Just fine." Neeley stepped out into the aisle and gestured to the seat he'd been in. "You?"

Tony froze for a second, but when he looked, he saw no insinuation on the other man's face. "Fine," he said, managing to sound casual. "Thanks for watching her." He stood up and crossed the aisle to settle down in his original seat. "So, Nora," he told their witness with a smile as he settled down in it. "You want to see an awesome photographic tour of Paris?"

Nora gave him a thoughtful look, then nodded and straightened up in her seat. "Sure."

Still smiling, Tony pulled his digital camera out of his pocket and flicked the power switch, then tipped it so that Nora could see the small screen on the back of it.

He didn't look up when Ziva dropped into her seat a few minutes later, the same knowing smile still on her lips.

* * *

**A/N: omg you guys they totally pulled a Jibbs in Paris! Eeee!**


	22. Post Masquerade

Ziva sighed, ran a hand through her hair, and unlocked the bathroom stall door. All for appearances, the entire bomb scare, she thought, shaking her head. It made her ill to think of someone so eager to promote his own interests at the expense of humanity. In his own way, Kane had not been so different from Salim. From her father. From everyone who -

With a gasp, she pulled up short to keep from running into the male form that suddenly loomed up in front of her. "Gibbs?" she gasped, looking up.

"Yup."

"What -" Awkwardly, she took a step back. "That is, why are you in the ladies' room?"

He shrugged. "Seemed like a good place to find you," he said, looking around thoughtfully.

Ziva blinked. "Well yes, but this is the _ladies' _room. For ladies."

He returned his eyes to her with a look that bordered on a glare. "If I had followed you into the _men's _room, Ziva," he told her pointedly, "I would've had to talk to Tony, too."

"What? There is nothing - I don't -"

"-and I don't think," he went on, speaking over her, "you want him to hear this."

Taken aback, she stared at him.

Apparently convinced that she was finally listening, he advanced on her, backing her up into the bathroom wall. "Now hear this, Agent David. You _ever _waltz in on one of my interrogations and blurt something out again like that," he informed her in a low, dangerous voice, "you'd better have a _damn _good reason to think either I or someone else is gonna die if you don't. Or else you'd better have a new job offer."

Ziva continued to gape at him.

"You got it?"

"Uh...well, I..." she stammered before finally getting her feet back under her. "Yes. I've got it," she said, managing a crisp nod.

Gibbs stared her down for another long second, then nodded in satisfaction. "Good." He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving a stunned Ziva to stare at the door.

She looked from the now-closed door to her reddened face in the mirror and shook herself. "He was right," she told her reflection definitively. "I would not have wanted Tony to hear that."

* * *

A/N: As a reminder, you can follow me on Twitter (username FluffyFanFic) for story updates and my behind-the-writing musings


	23. Post Jack knife

_A/N: Set just after Gibbs and MCGee find the body at the beginning of Jack Knife_

* * *

"Out of my way." Ziva bumped Tony with her hip, dislodging him from his place in front of her bathroom mirror. "You have much less hair to deal with than I do, anyway." There was no time for showers this morning, and they were in a rush to respond to the call-out they'd just received.

"Hey!" Tony protested, stumbling to the side from the force of the blow. Getting his feet back under him, he gave her a bump back. "My hair requires attention to detail, thank you very much. You and that..._mess_...can just go with a ponytail."

Offended, Ziva dropped her hands from her mussed hair and glared at him. "And whose fault is it that my hair is a mess, Tony?" She reached across him to pick up her toothbrush and turned the sink on full-blast. Cold water poured into the sink and splashed onto Tony's bare midsection, making him jump back with a yelp. "Thank you," she said through a mouthful of toothpaste, then turned off the sink and daintily took her place in front of the mirror again to work on her hair.

Tony scowled at her, but didn't try to move her again. Her 'thank you' had been issued in a tone of voice testy enough to warn him off even half-asleep as he was. Instead, he leaned over her head, taking advantage of the their height difference, and made another attempt to tame a stubborn cowlick that had appeared at the top of his head. It didn't surrender, and he groaned. "Damn it, Ziva, you need new pillows. Who the hell sleeps on microfiber pillowcases?"

She snorted, then leaned down to spit out her toothpaste. "It is not my pillowcases that make your hair look strange, I assure you," she commented as she straightened back up. "Perhaps if you did not insist on tossing and turning all night, it would not be so bad, hmm?"

"I was waiting for my phone to ring! You never know when we're going to get an emergency call-out!" He reached down to scratch his bare stomach and yawned. "Besides," he said through the yawn, "your snoring hasn't improved at all. Makes it hard to -" He broke off there as her elbow connected with his stomach. "Ow!" he hissed, rubbing the affected area. "You know, your elbows are bony as hell when you're not wearing something that covers them."

Ziva looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "You would rather I had spent the night dressed?"

"Well, no," he backpedaled hastily, "I just meant..."

She raised her eyebrows politely.

"...that it's a small price to pay, the occasional elbow in the stomach," he continued without a breath. "In exchange for..." Looking down, he smiled lecherously at the view her outfit offered him. She was dressed, barely, in a threadbare white undershirt that had somehow ended up in her suitcase instead of his on the way home from Paris. It ended at the top of her thighs; she hadn't bothered to dig up anything to cover her bottom half before they had fallen asleep the night before. "...In exchange for this."

Ziva rolled her eyes and returned her eyes to her reflection. "Hand me my hairbrush, please."

Distractedly, he picked up a comb that lay on the edge of the vanity and handed it to her over her shoulder.

"_Hairbrush_, Tony," she repeated, forcing it back at him. "Not comb. There is a difference! Honestly," she scoffed, "you would think you had never been in a woman's bathroom before!"

Giving her a dirty look, he put the comb down and picked up the paddle-shaped hairbrush she indicated. "Why is this thing so big, anyway?"

"Straightening."

"Huh?"

"Straightening." She demonstrated, pulling out a hunk of her hair from underneath with the brush and aiming a finger at it like a gun. "With a hairdryer. Which I do not have time to do this morning, because _you _are in my way!"

"Hey, it's not my fault we got woken up by McGee at freaking five o'clock in the morning! If it was up to me we'd still be asleep and you'd have all the time you wanted to do that..." He waved a hand. "...straightening thing after we woke up."

With a groan, Ziva dropped the brush. "This is not going to work." She combed her fingers through her hair, squinted at her reflection, and picked up an elastic headband. "This," she went on, pulling it onto her head, "will have to do. And you -" She turned into his chest with a teasing smile and lifted a hand to pat his unruly hair. "- will be needing help to deal with this." She turned the sink on and wetted her fingers, then reached back up to his head to try to pat the cowlick into place.

Tony grinned, watching as she concentrated fiercely on his hair. "You wanna do this for me every morning?" he asked, sliding a hand up her hip. "I think you're better at it than I am."

She snorted and shook his hand off. "You are perfectly capable of grooming yourself. I am simply..._assisting _today because we are in a hurry."

"Aw." Undaunted by her reaction, he reached down again and caught her hips with his hands. "You're a very good...assistant, Ziva."

She allowed him to steal a kiss, but he could feel her smiling against his lips. "We must hurry," she insisted, wiggling out of his grasp. "There." She gave his hair one last pat and stepped back to look at him. "I believe it resembles your normal style now." She smiled. "You will need to go home to dress, of course. You cannot wear the same suit into the office today as you wore yesterday."

Tony's mind hadn't gotten to the issue of clothes yet, and he winced as he realized that she was right. "Damn! That's, like, an extra -" He groaned, visualizing the trip from her apartment to his and then from his apartment to the Navy Yard.

"I will act ignorant of why you are running late," she offered, watching him dash back into her bedroom and begin hunting for the clothes he had shucked off the night before. "After all, we have not seen each other since we left work last night."

"Right," Tony said distractedly, pulling on his pants.

"For all Gibbs and McGee know, you spent the night with some strange woman miles away from here."

He zipped his pants and reached for a shirt. "Uh-huh."

"After all, it would not be the first time."

"Yeah - wait, what?" he interrupted himself, looking up from dressing.

Ziva smiled and walked into the bedroom to pat him on the cheek. "You dress nearly as quickly as you undress," she teased, and leaned in to kiss him. "Now, if only you would let me teach you to drive."

"Hah," he mumbled into her mouth, then pulled back and shook his head. "Not a chance. I have no desire to die. Doesn't matter what you bribe me with," he added as a speculative look crossed her face. "And I..." He picked his watch up off her bedside table and looked at it. "I have _got _to get going, or Gibbs is gonna have my ass." He headed for the front door with Ziva on his heels.

"Hm." She reached out to pat his behind, enjoying the surprise on his face as he whipped around to face her. "I would not want to have to fight him for it. Go," she said before he could reply to that. "I will do my best to distract Gibbs until you arrive."

Tony smiled and leaned down for one last kiss. "Still not letting you teach me to drive," he said quickly, and made for the door.


	24. Post Jack knife, part 2

"You _are_ jealous!" Ziva exclaimed, pushing the men's room door closed behind her rather than waiting for it to ease closed on its pneumatic hinge. "I had assumed you were joking, but obviously..." She furrowed her brows and leaned back against the door. "Obviously I was wrong."

Tony didn't even look over his shoulder at her. Still staring at the wall above the urinal he was at, he snorted derisively. "I'm not _jealous_," he laughed. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Oh, I don't know," she mused, strolling up behind him. "Perhaps because you seemed to think that another man was speaking to me with romantic intent?"

"Well he _was_," Tony pointed out, zipping his fly as he turned around to face her. "And I didn't notice you trying to stop yourself from flirting right back at him!"

Ziva started to reply, then thought better of it and closed her mouth. Turning her back to him, she walked over to the sink, eyes closed and lips pursed.

"_What_?" Tony demanded impatiently after thirty seconds of silence got to him.

Ziva turned around, bracing her hands behind her on the counter. "I thought we agreed that this was just sex, Tony," she said quietly.

He pictured the conversation they had had in Paris. Still panting from their frenzied roll around the hotel bed, Ziva had turned over, looked at him, and calmly commented that there was no reason why they couldn't continue to enjoy themselves without complicating things. Tony had hardly regained enough breath to speak, let alone to discuss her plan. He'd nodded, and hadn't had any reason to think about it since.

In the present, he crossed his arms defensively and moved closer to her. "It _is _just sex."

"Then _why_ are you jealous?" she pressed, leaning forward to put her face closer to his.

Tony scowled and dodged her hand as she lifted it to touch him. "I'm not. I'm just..._bothered_."

"About _what_? It is working well! No one has any idea that anything is going on, and I find our nights..." She smiled provocatively and lifted her hand again. "...enjoyable."

Sidestepping her again, Tony lifted his chin in a minimal nod of agreement. "I didn't say it wasn't enjoyable. But it's a hell of a lot _less _enjoyable when I see you _enjoying _yourself with some ex-marine who works a case with you."

"I was not 'enjoying' myself!"

"You said you'd see him later!"

"And perhaps I will!"

"There!" Tony threw up his hands in exasperation and spun away from her. "See? That's what I mean!"

"_What _is 'what you mean,' Tony? You are not even making sense!" Determined now to sort this out, she started after him as he paced the length of the bathroom.

"I'm making perfect sense. You just don't getit."

Ziva grabbed his shoulder and forced him to a stop mid-pace. "Then explain it to me," she said, pulling him around to face her again. "It seems to me that things are working just as they are supposed to. Nothing has gone wrong. And if I want to see Damon Werth, then that is..." She rolled her shoulders and backed off a step from him. "My prerogative."

"It doesn't work like that, Ziva." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "If you want it to be 'just sex', fine. But it can't be 'just sex' with me _and _with someone else."

She studied him for a second, trying to read his face. "I did not say that I would have sex with him," she protested. "I very much doubt I would, in fact. There! Done!" She snapped her fingers. "Problem solved, yes?" she said, smiled, and turned to head for the door.

"No."

Ziva paused mid-step and looked back at him. "Why not?"

"Is this really what you want, Ziva?" he asked, advancing on her now that she had stopped. "After all this time -" He moved forward another step, backing her toward the closed door. "- we're just going to be in each other's weekly rotation? And that's it? Because I don't think I can do that. And I don't think you really don't understand my point," he added thoughtfully. "But I don't know why you're acting like it."

"What more do you want from me?" she snapped, fisting her hands at her sides as her back hit the door. "You want us to fawn over each other at crime scenes? Get ourselves fired?"

"No. Of course not!"

"Then _what_?"

Tony drew in a slow breath and let it out, trying to calm himself. "I'd settle for not having to wonder who you're with the nights you're not with me. And I don't mean," he added as she opened her mouth, "that I just want full disclosure."

"I see." Ziva lowered her lashes, considering. "You want...exclusivity."

Tony didn't like the way she said that term, but he couldn't think of a better one. "I don't like sharing. I don't care," he added, holding up a hand, "if it's 'just sex'. As long as I'm the only one."

"I am surprised at you." Ziva pushed off the door, forcing him back a step. "The Tony I know would have a different date every night of the week if he could line them up. He is always sniffing after some woman or another. He does not have an _exclusive _bone in his body."

He shrugged and moved away, freeing her to move around the room. "The Ziva _I _know would be laughing her ass off at the fact that I'm bothering to have this conversation." As Ziva prowled toward the sinks, obviously readying herself for the next round of arguments, he shook his head and laid a hand on the door handle. "And she'd be right. Let me know what you decide, Ziva."

"Tony!"

At the sound of his name, he stopped and turned around to find her only a foot away again.

"You are keeping me quite busy enough," she said, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand. "I have no interest in searching for other sources of...entertainment." Before he could respond to that, she went up on her toes and kissed him hungrily. "Tonight," she whispered, sliding her hands down to his chest and using them to lever herself away. "My place."

Tony swallowed, eyes on her lips, and nodded.

* * *

**A/N: They're totally in a "it's just sex, really" stage. And I think it's a good bet that, now that she's getting what she'd been wanting for years, Ziva is suddenly intimidated by the reality and is trying to back off.** **And suddenly, Tony wants what he'd been holding back on.**


	25. Chapter 25

"Disgusting," Ziva grumbled, pulling the rusted door closed behind her as she picked her way into the bathroom stall. The metal was warped and she had to wedge the door closed to get it to stay put. She didn't even bother to try the lock, which was visibly misaligned. "I do not understand, with all the taxes that are paid in this country, how public facilities could remain in such states of -" Her hand came down on a sticky spot on the toilet paper dispenser, and she wrinkled her nose. "- disrepair. Not to mention the filth." She stood looking down at the dark stains that lined the toilet bowl for a second before finally getting up the courage to turn her back to it and lower her pants.

Outside the stall, Tony smiled and leaned back against the wall that separated them from the open airfield they were supposed to be flying out of shortly. They and the flight crew of their plane were the airfield's entire population at the moment; even the ticket-agent had handed them their boarding passes and informed them that she would be doubling as flight attendant that day. "I told you to hold it until we were back in DC. Rural Virginia doesn't exactly provide high-class comforts in its airports."

Ziva snorted and tried not to look at the squashed cockroach that adorned the wall just to the left of her knee. "This airport isn't in a _class _at all. Except perhaps the remedial one. If I were still with Mossad, I would consider burning it down as a public service."

"Yeah, but then you'd have to answer to Gibbs after he bailed us out of jail," Tony pointed out as a series of thumps and clanks resounded from inside the stall as Ziva tried to get to her feet without touching anything.

As she stood up, Ziva smashed her knee into the low-hanging toilet paper dispenser and cursed, trying out the feel of a phrase she had heard McGee mutter the day before: "Son of a motherless goat!"

There was complete silence from outside the stall for a second before Tony dissolved into incredulous laughter as he tried to process that string of words. "Where the hell," he managed to sputter in a gasp between laughs, "did you pick _that _up?"

"McGee." She flushed the toilet. "Why?"

"Figures. Never," he commented, pushing off the wall with a snicker, "have I _ever _heard someone insult a goat's antecedents before. Not even McWeirdo."

Ziva laughed and buttoned her pants. "You must learn more languages, Tony. Broaden your horizons." She reached for the door and gave it a push, but it didn't move. Muttering, she wedged one foot under the edge and used her foot to add to the force of her push. The metal grated and moved an inch, then froze up again. "Come on!"

"You ok in there?" Tony asked, reaching for the door.

"The door is stuck." She gave it a kick, which only hurt her toes. "After I get out of here, I am never -" _Kick. "_- using a public -" _Kick. "_- bathroom _-" Kick. _"- _again!_" As she said the last word, she bulled into the door with her shoulder, finally knocking it open and right into Tony, who had just started to pull from the other side.

The corner of the door caught him at eye level, sending him stumbling backwards with a yelp. "Shit!" he managed, slapping a hand to the injury and then checking it for blood. There was none, and he sighed and reached up again to rub the sore area.

"I'm sorry, Tony." Ziva followed worriedly as he stumbled back to the wall. "Are you alright?" she asked, craning her neck to try to see around where he had cupped his hand. Thwarted in that, she resorted to trying to pry his hand away. He fought her like a recalcitrant child. "Let me see."

Groaning dramatically, he lowered his hand again.

Ziva looked closely at his undamaged face and then rolled her eyes. "You are fine! You had me afraid I had put your eye out or something, Tony!"

"Yeah, well, it feels like it." He touched the area with one finger, tentatively. "You sure I'm not bleeding or anything?"

"There is no blood, Tony. You may have a bruise, at worst." Reassured that he wasn't badly injured, she checked her watch. "Our flight leaves soon. Do you think you can move your poor, wounded self to the plane?"

Giving her a dirty look, Tony started toward the bathroom door. "You get the window seat."

"I always end up in the window seat on these small planes," she pointed out. "Otherwise, you whine incessantly about your poor long legs. As if _I _fit in those tiny seats any better than you."

"Hey," he pointed out, shouldering the backpack he had dropped on the bathroom floor when they came in, "I've got a couple inches on you."

Ziva paused halfway through the bathroom door and turned to look at him with a smirk. "Is that all?"

Glaring, he made a grab for her, but she was too fast for him. By the time he caught up to her, she was already mounting the metal stairway that led to the plane's boarding door.

* * *

They slumped into the squad room two hours later, bedraggled and cramped from the airplane seats, which had been even smaller than either of them remembered. Ziva dropped into her chair without hesitation, sending it wheeling across the space behind her desk until she bumped into a file cabinet. "I never thought I would find this desk chair _comfortable_," she sighed, pulling the elastic band out of her hair and shaking the mass out, "but after that flight, I believe I do."

"Yeah, says the girl who got to curl up in the window seat the whole flight and avoid getting clipped by a beverage cart steered by a demonic stewardess every five minutes," Tony shot back as he moved his gun from its locked case to his desk drawer. "Unlike _some _of us, who got conned by -"

"By their smarter, more attractive partner?" Ziva finished for him pointedly.

"Not exactly what I was going to say, but -"

"Hey, guys!" McGee exclaimed as he rounded the corner of Ziva's desk from the elevator. "You're back! How was backwoods Virginia?"

"Backwoodsy," Tony snapped, tipping his head back and groaning. "I can still hear the dueling banjos."

Ziva looked at him in confusion. "There were no banjos."

"Oh, come on!" Tony exclaimed, sitting back up. "The dueling banjos? From _Deliverance_? Don't make us do it again," he warned, turning to cue McGee. "Neer-na-neer-neer-neer-neer -" His rendition of the number's opening was short-circuited by the shocked laugh that burst out of McGee when Tony turned to face him. "What?" he demanded, annoyed at having his performance interrupted.

"Your, uh..." Still laughing, McGee gestured to his own eye. "Things get a little out of hand down there?"

"What?"

"Your eye, Tony," Ziva supplied, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

He reached up to touch the slight swelling that marked where the bathroom stall door had hit him, only now realizing that the door's blow had been perfectly placed to give him a black eye. "Oh, this is -"

"No, don't tell me!" McGee broke in eagerly. "Let's see...you hit on the flight attendant and she didn't like it? No, no!" he interrupted himself before Tony could get a word in, "I know. The witness didn't like the way you were looking at his wife."

"Nope." Everyone turned to look at Gibbs, who smiled and took a sip of his coffee.

"Oh come on, Boss, you can't possibly know -" Tony began hastily, only to break off as Gibbs reached out to slap him on the back of the head.

Gibbs just shook his head. "I _told_ you she didn't like sitting by the window."


	26. Post Mother's Day

Ziva settled into the movie seat just as a commercial ended and the opening credits of _Rashomon _began to roll. The man sitting in the next seat, his attention caught by the sudden movement at his side, looked around. His eyes widened slightly, and then he nodded at her. "Ziva," he whispered.

She smiled and leaned over to say into his ear, "Is this seat taken?"

Transferring his attention back to the screen and trying not to laugh at the sensation of her breath tickling his head, Tony just shook his head.

* * *

Ninety minutes later, Tony disposed first of an empty soda cup and then of the contents of his bladder in the movie theater's bathroom, sandwiched at the row of urinals between two tall, haughty-looking caucasian men, both inexplicably wearing formal women's kimono. _To each his own, _Tony mused, and focused on his own business after allowing himself a second to stare.

The bathroom door opened again and the man on Tony's right shook his head, chuckling. "No more room at the inn, buddy," he began, craning his neck to see the newcomer. The Kurosawa film festival wasn't exactly highly-trafficked, and most of the attendees knew each other by sight already. The mood was much more casual than at a normal film showing, and discussions while peeing weren't quite as frowned-upon.

"What beautiful _homongi_!" Ziva exclaimed, eyes wide, as she paused in the doorway. "Do not mind me, gentlemen. I would just like to speak to my friend, here." She gestured toward Tony, and the kimono-clad men, in unison, turned their heads to look at him with new interest. "Although after I am done with him, I would very much like to discuss where you acquired those outfits."

Tony, no longer surprised at having her appear everywhere he went, just shook his head. "What's up, Ziva?"

She leaned one shoulder against the wall next to the man on Tony's right. "It occurred to me that this film is, shall we say, thematic of our day."

"You mean how we couldn't trust anything anyone told us about what happened?" He flushed the urinal and slid out from between the kimono-clad men.

"Yes."

"And how everyone told their own story, for their own reasons?"

"Yeah."

"And how it was forced to end without us ever finding out what really happened?"

"Yes, Tony," she sighed, disappointed that she hadn't been the only one to make the connection.

"Aw, you guys have a fight?" asked one of the kimono men sympathetically, his attention caught by Ziva's sigh. He lowered the skirt of his outfit and flushed. "I know how it is when you feel like nothing anyone says is -"

His companion dropped an armful of fabric, turned around, and glared. "I told you the truth about him and you know it, Devon! I never slept with him. I never even kissed him!"

"I saw him grabbing your ass!"

"He didn't grab my -"

"Oookay." Not waiting to hear the end of the argument, Tony snagged Ziva's arm, yanked open the bathroom door, and pulled her outside.

"What in the _world_?" Ziva began, staring through the narrowing crack in the door at the men as they continued to fight.

"Neal and Devon," Tony said, following her gaze over his shoulder. "When you start coming here regularly, you'll get to know 'em." He slid a casual arm around her shoulders. "That's _if _you're interested in coming here again."

Ziva smiled and leaned into him. "If I didn't, I would never find out where they got those beautiful kimonos."

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry guys, not my best work, I know. I think I still haven't recovered from the combination of the move and then the "wtf" ending of tonight's ep. I remain entirely unclear on how "you'll never make the case stick" turned into "she is no longer a person of interest."


	27. Post Double Identity

"Hey, McGoo?"

McGee set his loafers on the floor of his locker and picked up the sneakers that sat beside them. "Yeah, Tony," he sighed, turning around to sit on the bench that ran between the locker room rows. Without waiting for the other man's answer, he went to work unlacing the sneakers enough to get them on his feet.

Tony lowered himself onto the bench beside him, leaning over to put himself in McGee's line of sight. "You got a spare black sock?"

McGee tied the laces on one foot and finally looked at him. "You're kidding."

"No!"

"Tony, the last time you got your hands on a piece of my clothing, Ziva mysteriously found a pair of my boxers in her desk drawer the next day." He dropped his shod foot to the ground with a thump. "No way am I giving you a chance to try that one again."

"Aw, c'mon!" Tony laughed and waved a hand, dismissing his point. "All I want is a sock, McGee! How much trouble can I get in with one, single, lonely sock?"

McGee stopped mid-lacing on the other foot and gave Tony a withering look.

It took Tony a second to follow the other man's line of thought. "Ew - what - no!" He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Trust me, I'm way past the point of using socks for _that_."

"So then what do you need _one_ of my socks for, big man?" McGee pressed, returning his attention to tying his shoe.

"I don't _match_." Tony stuck his feet out, showing McGee that he was still wearing one black sock and one white. "And I have somewhere to go tonight. No time to go home and change."

McGee raised his eyebrows. "Hot date?"

"Isn't there always?" Tony grinned. "Come on, McGoo. One sock. I'll wash it and have it back to you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Ok, well . . . as soon as I do laundry again."

McGee set his other foot down and smirked. "And when's that scheduled for?"

Tony scowled and ignored the question. "_One sock_, man. That's all I'm asking from you. You'll get it back."

"What, Ziva won't let you in unless you match?"

Caught by surprise, Tony sputtered a denial. "I . . . what? Ziva? I've got somewhere to _go_, Probie. I'm not working tonight."

Rolling his eyes, McGee stood up and reached into his locker. "Here." He tossed a rolled-up pair of socks at Tony. "Keep the change. And just . . ." He winced. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do with them. Either of you." Shaking his head, he left the room.


	28. Post Jurisdiction

"_Dammit dammit dammit dammit!"_

Ziva could hear the cursing before she even pushed the ladies room door open, and she braced herself for whatever was waiting on the other side. What she found, however, made her pull up short and stare:

Abby was standing in front of the mirror, one pigtail caught in her studded leather cuff, cursing like a sailor at her reflection. "This is _not _the day for this," she muttered, still not noticing the newcomer. "I'm already behind, and Gibbs wants that laptop, and - I can't believe I did this! And _no way _am I going out there and -" She turned toward the door, reluctantly deciding that she might have to venture outside and ask for help, and was surprised by the sight of Ziva. "Ziva!" She automatically tried to put her arm down, succeeded only in nearly yanking a clump of hair out of her head, and cursed again.

"You need help," Ziva said matter-of-factly, moving into the room and reaching for the other woman's arm. "Stand still."

"Yeah." Abby bit her lip and gave her caught arm another, even more frustrated, yank. "This stupid -"

"Hold _still_, Abby!" She grabbed Abby's arm before she could do any more damage to herself. "You have little enough hair without pulling the rest of it out in frustration, _motek_. Be still." Gently, she began unraveling the hair that was wrapped around a diamond-shaped stud on Abby's wrist. "How did you get yourself into this predicament? Your hair is -" She pursed her lips and tried unwrapping hair in another direction when her first effort didn't seem to help. "- _very _firmly wrapped up in here."

"God, I don't know," Abby groaned. "I was just fixing my hair and I had the elastic around my wrist, and I don't know, it must have dragged the cuff up when I tried to get at it - ow!"

"Sorry." Ziva lowered the strands she had been able to loosen with that last tug and focused on the rest of the tangled chunk. "You are closer to being free now, at least." She frowned in concentration and went back to work. "You are not yourself today," she reflected without looking up a few seconds later.

Abby looked at her in the mirror and sighed. "I know. I'm just having a - a _terrible horrible no good very bad day_."

"All that?" Ziva looked up in surprise as she freed the rest of the hair and smoothed it up to re-tie the pigtail it had come from.

Abby quirked a smile at Ziva's unfamiliarity with the phrase and held still as she watched her friend style her hair. "It's the title of a book. A kid's book. About a boy and his bad day."

"I see. And you are having one of these days today? There." Satisfied with her work up close, she stepped back to get a better look at it. "I do not have quite the touch that you do, but I think it's passable, yes?"

Abby leaned toward the mirror and lifted one hand to touch Ziva's handiwork. "Not bad. And yes, I'm having a _very bad _day." Despite her grumpiness, she leaned forward to give Ziva a hug. "Thanks. This would have been _so _embarrassing, to walk out there and ask, like, _Gibbs _to untangle me - oops," she broke off as she tried to withdraw her arms and found her wrist now caught in Ziva's hair. "Oh my god, you've got to be kidding me!"

"What?" With more length to her hair than Abby had, Ziva was able to turn her head slightly to see the problem. "Oh, no. Abby!"

"I'm sorry!" Abby wailed, trying to free herself and getting nowhere. "I'm never wearing this cuff again, I swear!"

"Ziva!" The bathroom door cracked open and Tony's face appeared from behind it. "You in here? We need to go check that storage uni - oh _ho_!" he broke off, catching sight of the two women with their arms around each other. "Listen, ladies, I'd love to get this on pay-per-view, but Ziva and I need to work. So maybe some other -"

"Shut up and get in here!" Ziva hissed furiously.

Taken aback by the eager invitation, Tony looked over his shoulder, expecting to see someone else behind him who had been the object of her statement. When he saw no one, he turned back to them and asked, "Me?" Belatedly, he noticed that they hadn't moved apart even with the door open. "I mean, always glad to be of service to two -"

"_Tonyyy_!" Abby whined, stomping her foot.

"Ok, ok. What's up?" He released the door and took another step into the room.

"We're stuck!"

He raised his eyebrows. "In here?"

"Together!" both women said at the same time. To demonstrate, Abby thrust out her arm to show him where Ziva's hair was caught.

"Ouch!" Ziva protested, sidestepping to avoid having her hair yanked out by the roots. "Tony, get my hair out of her cuff before she makes me bald!"

He looked from one woman to the other. "Really? No, seriously?" he pressed when they both just glared at him.

"Yes!" Abby snapped, exasperated.

Tony grinned. "Thank you, oh lord, for the bounty of which I am about to partake - _ow_!"

With grim looks, both women lowered the hands they had just used to smack him with.


	29. Post Jurisdiction, part 2

Ziva leaned over the sink, toward her reflection, and used one finger to push back a curl that had escaped the ponytail she'd just scraped her hair into. She was sure now that Tony had gotten a good look at the attractive style she'd had it in during the day, and, having served its purpose, it was time for her hair to get out of the way. She hated having hair in her face.

She studied her face now. Her color was high, her eyes bright. She smiled at her reflection, then quickly closed her mouth when she noticed that her tongue was stained red from the Caf-Pow she'd been drinking while they watched the movie. Tony had been drinking the same thing; she wondered if his mouth was stained, too. That sent her into a pleasant reverie about finding out the state of his tongue, and she was smiling dreamily into the mirror when the door swung open behind her to admit Tony. She wiped the look off her face when she noticed him, but he had already seen her expression.

"Having fun in here?" he asked, casually leaning back against the wall opposite her with his eyes on her flushed face.

Ziva dropped her eyes and went back to trying to push the stray curl into place. "I was just finishing up. You did not need to pause the movie and come in after me."

He straightened one arm to show her his watch. "You've been in here for almost ten minutes."

Startled by that revelation, Ziva met his eyes again. "_How_ long?"

Tony smirked at her disbelief. "Now you see why I came in after you. What've you been doing that's more interesting than watching Douglas Fairbanks swashbuckle his way through _The Black Pirate_?"

"Nearly _anything _would be more interesting," she said, rolling her eyes. "An autopsy, among many other things."

"After all I've done for you," he replied, slapping a dramatic hand to his chest. "Cleared my evening, made you popcorn - and you say Fairbanks is _boring_?"

Ziva snorted. "Your date canceled on you, Tony. Do not try to convince me this evening was a conscious decision on your part."

Tony studied her, his eyebrows slowly creeping up. "You're jealous. Hah!" he crowed suddenly, startling her. "You are _jealous_, Miss 'Oh I probably wouldn't have slept with him'!"

She sniffed haughtily. "I am not jealous. I am simply . . . pointing out the error of your statement."

"Yeah, ri-"

"What sort of date was it?" she interrupted before she could stop herself.

Tony blinked. "You realize you just said that out loud?"

"Yes." She waved a hand and sighed. "Clearly you are beginning to rub off on me. I have acquired the tendency to spout nonsense without thinking. Ignore what I said."

"Oh, no. No, no no," he chuckled. "I want to hear more about this 'nonsense' that's going through your head about my dates."

Ziva scowled. "More than one?"

He shrugged again. "You didn't seem too excited about the exclusivity thing."

"And _you _seemed very excited about it!" she shot back. "So what has changed?"

"Who says anything changed?"

"You - oh. Ohhh," she broke off, realizing what he was doing and shaking her head. "You never _had _a date, did you? You only said that to . . . what? Anger me?"

"Hey, you talked about your date. I was just replying."

She lifted one shoulder and gave him a careless smile. "What makes you think _I _actually had a date?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Did you?"

Ziva's smile widened, but she said nothing.

"So you didn't have a date."

Still smiling, Ziva turned back to the mirror, pulled the elastic out of her hair, and went to work re-gathering her ponytail.

Suddenly, Tony's hands were there, holding her hair up. "Need some help?" he asked, his breath tickling another curl that refused to be tamed.

She met his eyes in the mirror and nodded. As his hands slid into her hair, she lowered her own and relaxed back into his chest.

* * *

**A/N: Meh. I _hate _writing on machines other than my primary one, and with no background music. If this chapter sucks, let's all blame my failed hard drive, mmkay?**


	30. Chapter 30

Tony stared at the jumble of boxes in Ziva's arms. "You want me to _what_?"

"It is only temporary!" Ignoring his attempts to return the pile to her, she reached for the wallet she knew he had in his back pocket. "I will give you your money back after _Pesach_."

"What - Ziva!" He tried to grab her hand, missed, and succeeded only in dropping two packets of ramen and a nearly-full canister of oatmeal, which landed on his foot. "Ow, dammit!"

She extracted a dollar from his wallet and reached around to push it back into his pocket. "Thank you."

Tony bent down to retrieve the dropped containers. A loaf of bread tumbled off the top of the pile as he tried to wedge the oatmeal back into it. "Crap."

"I will get you a bag," Ziva said, turning away. "So you can carry everything home."

"I have to take this stuff _home_?" Determined to get an explanation, he followed her as she headed from the front door, where she'd met him, deeper into the apartment. "Why are you selling me everything in your pantry, Ziva?"

"_Chametz_." She opened a cupboard under her kitchen sink, peered into it, and closed it without taking anything out.

Still having no idea what she was talking about, Tony continued to follow her as she headed for the bathroom. "Uh . . . _gesundheit_?"

"I am only selling you the items in my pantry which are _chametz, _Tony. Leavened breads. Things which have been fermented. I cannot have them in the house for Passover."

"So you're giving them to me?"

"Selling," she corrected. "Temporarily." She pulled an empty plastic grocery bag out from under her bathroom sink and turned to face him again. "So don't eat any of it. If my ramen noodles are gone when I come for them on April fifth, I will have to hurt you." She opened the bag and held it out so he could drop the food into it. "Understood?"

Tony snorted. "I haven't had a clue what you were talking about since you opened the door and handed me all this stuff." He dumped the armload of food into the bag, then reached back in to pull out a bottle of beer. He looked from the bottle to her, then shook his head and put it back into the bag. "You know, I'm not even going to ask."

"Good. Just bring it home with you, put it somewhere, and _do not eat it_. Or drink it, as the case may be."

"Until April fifth?" he asked, belatedly processing her orders. "You're asking me to bring home a bag of ramen and beer, keep it in my apartment for a week, and not consume any of it?"

She nodded and handed him the bag, then squatted down to pick up an oat that had dropped from the oatmeal canister to the floor. "And stop shedding bits of food all over my bathroom. I have enough cleaning to do as it is."

"Cleaning? You?"

She shrugged. "_Chametz_."

"Again?"

"Yes." Dredging up a smile, she patted his cheek. "Dinner tomorrow is at eight. Do not be late."

"McGee claims you even got Gibbs to promise to come. True?" he asked.

"True." She smiled again, a bit more easily now. "I believe he feels a bit sorry for me - my first _Pesach _without any family to speak of. Little does he know, I am far more worried about the fact that I must cook for all of you than about any thoughts of my father."

At the mention of Ziva cooking, Tony winced, then quickly tried to hide it. She caught him, however, and narrowed her eyes. "I will have you know I am not a bad cook. And besides . . ." She went up on her toes to give him a kiss. "Even if the food is terrible, there will be plenty of wine. Now, go. I have to clean."

Tony looked down at the bag of food again, shook his head, and headed for the front door.

* * *

**A/N:** Passover is this week (started last night), so Ziva of course had the team over for dinner last night. This chapter is set Sunday afternoon. Incidentally, I had a completely-written chapter that I thought was so cute based on the search for _chametz_, but when I ran it by a Jewish friend, she said no way would anyone have fun with that cleaning. So I had to scrap it and re-write from scratch. I know the bathroom connection in this one is only tangential, but hopefully this scene is more plausible to my Jewish readers than my original.


	31. Post Guilty Pleasure

McGee zipped his fly and reached out to flush the urinal, then, in his peripheral vision, barely caught sight of an object flying at his head in time to duck it. The package of Nutter-Butters hit the wall behind where his head had been and fell to the floor with a crunch. He paused, looking down at the red foil, then looked up at Tony, who was leaning back against the bathroom wall. "Changed your mind . . . again?"

Tony shrugged. "What am _I_ gonna do with a pack of peanut butter lunch box cookies?" he replied, rolling his eyes. "I mean, come on. What kind of grown man eats freaking _Nutter-Butters_?"

"Oh, I don't know." McGee turned and headed for the sinks. "What kind of grown man eats two whole boxes of Twinkies on a dare from a frat brother?"

"Hey, that was a reunion th-"

"- and then calls his _partner _to bring him some Pepto-Bismol the next morning when all that sugar gives him indigestion?" McGee continued, ignoring his protests.

"You pass my place on your way in anyway!"

"Yeah? So does Ziva. So why didn't you call _her_?" When Tony had no answer for that after a second, McGee smiled, turned on the sink taps, and began to scrub his hands. "After all, you guys are the Two Musketeers lately. And yet you don't subject _her_ to your Twinkie-burps."

"Ziva's a . . ." Tony groped for an non-incriminating word, and came up with a weak-sounding, "lady."

McGee snorted. "Ziva could out-burp _you_. Admit it, you called me because you didn't want Ziva to see whatever girl you had sleeping over. Yeah, I saw the bra," he added when he saw Tony's eyes widen in the mirror. "Next time, tell your girlfriend to take her clothes off the furniture before you let me in. I did _not _need that mental image."

"What mental image?" Tony asked, advancing on him as he sensed weakness. "The mental image of a naked girl? Because I've always known, and if you're finally ready to admit it, then I'll accept you howe-"

"I'm not gay, Tony," McGee sighed, drying his hands. It was an old line of Tony's, one that told McGee that he was going to come out the winner in this one. If Tony had been reduced to the old _you're gay _ploy, he was scraping the bottom of the barrel. "And for your information, the mental image I could do without is of any naked girl being interested in _you_. You think a Hugh Hefner smoking jacket is 'sexy', for god's sake!"

"Hey, that was on sale in the gift shop, and -"

Their sparring was interrupted by the sound of a feminine giggle. In unison, the two startled men turned to find Ziva standing just inside the door. "I see you two have . . . what is the phrase? 'Kissed and made up'?" she said teasingly. "Oh, do not let me interrupt you," she went on when Tony opened his mouth. "I was just coming in to make sure you weren't pulling each other's hair. Although I suppose throwing food at each other -" She eyed the crushed package of Nutter-Butters still lying on the floor "- is not much better." Smirking, she looked at McGee. "Perhaps you two can feed each other what's left of those cookies while you make up, hm?"

"Ziva -" McGee began defensively, but his voice trailed off in surprise as she gave him a broad wink and a smile and disappeared through the bathroom door.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, better late than never. This is a post-ep to last week's episode, _Guilty Pleasure_. I may or may not do another chapter for this week. There definitely won't be another one tonight. But hey, I've got my computer up and working again, my new dog is starting to settle in (you can see a pic of him on my Twitter account, FluffyFanFic), and hopefully I'll be getting back to a semi-normal writing schedule now.**


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